
Ctpiglitl? . 



GQBRIGHr DEPOSm 



THE PINNACLE 

AND 

Other Kentucky Mountain Poems 




< 

O 
Q 

< 

'^ 
U 



O 



O 
Pk 



THE PINNACLE 

AND 

Other Kentucky Mountain Poems 

By 

Henry Harvey Fuson 



JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY 

INCORPORATED 

Louisville, Kentucky 
1921 









Copyright, 1921 
By 

HENRY HARVEY FUSON 

All Rights Reserved 



DEC 16 1921 



CIA630813 



To My Daughter 

RUTH MAURINB FUSON 

Who has always taken a lively interest 
in these poems. 



For permission to print in book form certain 
of these poems I wish to acknowledge an in- 
debtedness to the Masonic Home Journal, the 
Cumberland College Monthly and the Proceed- 
ings of the Kentucky Educational Association. 
I wish, also, to acknowledge my indebtedness to 
Mrs. Sallie Lyttle Hatton who has been the in- 
spiration for one poem, "The Burdened Soul," 
and who has given me that encouragement and 
good advice that all writers find themselves 
much in need of. 



THE CALL OF THE HILLS 



"The green hills whisper all the time 
Across the distance life has set, 

A subtle call that swings in rhyme 
No rhymer ever captured yet, 
A song that one may not forget. 

"The green hills — aye, they have a song 
That none may fashion into words ; 

Now faintly soft, now surging strong. 
Now blended melody of birds 
And eve calls of the lowing herds. 

"So in my dreams I wander still 
To where the little path is flung 

From vale to vale and hill to hill. 

The nodding, drowsing blooms among- 
Where that clear call is given tongue. 



W. D. N., Chicago Tribune 



WHY THESE POEMS? 

So woven is the essence of mountains 

In fabric of my dreams, 

So sparkling pure are the bubbling fountains 

By quiet rippling streams, 

That compensate nature's true law I must. 

By writing here in time 

What has become to me a sacred trust, 

Extolling thoughts in rhyme. 



12-12-20 



I. 
FOLK-LORE 



SWIFT'S SILVER MINE 

Swift's Silver Mine; — 
A will-o'-the-wisp fine, 
Left in a heroic age 
For speculation of the sage 
Of reason bereft? 

Nay, my friend, not so. 
For tradition says, years ago 
Swift from Virginia came 
To these wilds of oak and cane, 
At his own behest. 

He unlocked the hills fine 
And brought from the mine 
A million tons and more 
Of the finest silver ore 
To add to his wealth. 

His furnace, a large kettle 
Of the rarest metal, 
Was used to smelt the ore, 
Till he had wealth the more 
To cheer his health. 

By the Indians frightened. 
With fears of war heighten 'd, 
He hid the silver under a tree 
In the great kettle, oh me. 
Just under the hill. 



Marked he the trees around 
With arrows above the ground 
Pointing to the buried treasure, 
Seemingly a reckless measure 
For a man with a will. 

Far, far away he went 
Taking nothing, not a cent. 
To await the time and day 
When he should return, aye, 
To get his riches. 

Time was long; he is old. 
And comes with step not bold 
To search for the place 
In the hills* broad space, 
In turns and niches. 

But the marks on the trees 
Are effaced, and he sees 
No trace of his treasure there. 
Though he search with care 
He finds no metal. 

He went away and died, 
And the daring Indians shied 
At the coming white men more. 
They ceased to chase the boar 
And found no kettle. 



White men flecked the valleys 
With towns, with streets and alleys; 
They climbed the hills high 
And strove without a sigh 
To found a new home. 

But the story of Swift's mine 
Came to them in due time, 
And caused them to search 
Where the birds of prey perch 
For the treasure home. 

And so it was surely found 
Just half way down 
On the bench of the mountain, 
Close beside a flowing fountain 
Under the tree. 

The marks are very plain, 
The way they point the same. 
So home they quietly turn, 
With fervent desire they burn 
To return to the tree. 

They must let no one know. 
So on a dark night they go. 
While the winds moan and blow 
And the owls hoot low 
To instill fear. 



They whisper very low 
And dig and dig just so 
Till the weary hours of night, 
When, there ! What a fright ! 
Comes so near ! 

There are moaning sounds 
That come in rounds 
With groanings like the dying; 
And flappings like the flying 
Of wings unseen. 

They stop and stand in fright 
At sounds like these at night ; 
But nearer, nearer they tread 
With wailings like the dead, 
I ween. 

The fearful noises cease, 
The work's speed they increase ; 
They have most reached the treasure, 
When the Inferno in full measure 
Is turned loose. 

The monster dog at the gate 
Plunges and growls with hate, 
And the boatman curses his oar 
As he rushes the black water o'er 
To slip the noose. 



Friends rave in their madness, 
Women weep in their sadness, 
Men shriek their hate, 
While Satan cries, "Too late, 
Too late, too late." 

Then out goes the light. 
The owl hoots his delight. 
The panther screams near, 
While the men leap from fear 
And leave all to fate. 

They never returned here 
Because of the awful fear. 
Now ever remember true 
That the Fates will keep you 
From the treasure so. 

True. Yes, you may believe. 
For there's a Journal to relieve 
Any doubts you may retain. 
Swift let this Journal remain 
With Mrs. Renfro 

Who lived by Cumb'land Ford 
After Boone had come toward 
This place from the Gap. 
Not knowing this you Ve apt 
To question the source. 



Which describes without amiss 
All the marks that lead to this 
Treasure, and the route they took 
When they came to look 
For the course. 



4-11-18 



« 



II. 

SONGS OF EMOTION 



12-9-20 



O SOUL DIVINE 

Osoul divine! 
Large conception of human mind. 
Down the ages 
Hast thou been sung by the sages 

Of ev'ry land. 

O soul divine ! 
Out of the wreckage of time 
Didst thou emerge, 
Hurried on by that divine urge 

Of truth at hand. 

O soul divine ! 
Released from a secret star of time, 
To utmost bounds 
Of earth and sky and Heaven *s rounds 

Djost thou fly still. 

O soul divine ! 
Thou who dost dwell in the heart-shrine 
Of man secure, 
To thee, the God in man so pure, 

We bow the will. 



11 



THE BURDENED SOUL 

I 

The heaving heart of a burdened soul 

Looks out on a dreary world. 

No beauty is there, no sure sign of the goal, 

In the downpour of rain, in the mad whirl 

Of the waters down the roaring hill, 

In the monster mountain rising amid the gloom, 

In the bare trees of the forest by the hill, 

Or in the dark clouds over all, with no boon. 

Like some dire omen ill 

From out Heaven's abyss — a pall soon 

That o'er the troubled earth hangs. 

What to this soul are these in his sore distress? 

Symbols are they only of the aching pangs. 

And gloom of soul, from which they have no egress. 

What to him are the Kings who feel not the pangs 

Of wrongs for which they can obtain redress? 

What to him the Rich who know no want 

Unless it be that of soul which knows it not? 

What to him the Proud who flaunt 

Their gayety before the world? And for what? 

What to him the Cruel who obtain their power 

By means of might and blood alone? 

What to him the Pretending-Meek who, in their hour. 

Submit to, the ruthlessness they have sown? 

12 



What to him, here now in this sad hour, 
Are the deeds of men, the race of favored men, 
Who have gone from power, ever to more power. 
In the race for triumph without end. 



II 



Stands the soul naked before the Presence Unseen, 
With no power to rise to any commanding position, 
Held up to the scorn of men, and hated, it seem. 
Because the uncontrolled circumstances of his con- 
dition 
Have made it so, without sufficient means 
To buy even those things that sustain healthy life. 
While his just pride of soul, thru unfair means. 
Trails in the dust of an uncompromising strife. 
Will God forsake the soul in this destitution? 
Can poverty of purse, mind and soul be overcome? 
In all the Universe is there any restitution 
For the downtrodden soul? Not one? 
By these questions the soul is not made free, 
Nor can he find in himself, or in the world about him, 
The means to this end to make him free. 
Or the power to throw off this weight from him. 
So, in the quiet hours of the evening twilight. 
When the Goddess of Night folds her robes about her, 
And earth's creatures find repose for the night, 
Amid the impressive silence, with not even a stir, 
He seeks the great dark wood under the mountain, 

13 



And gropes his way among the trunks of the trees 

To the depth of the wood beyond a dark fountain. 

Here, looking all about, he falls upon his knees 

And cries out to God to provide a light 

To flash the way to the pure fountain of his desire, 

Where he can be delivered from the terrible plight 

In which he finds himself, fighting the mad fire. 

Then he prayeth : "O Lord, dear God, our God ! 

Thou didst deliver the Children of Israel of old 

Thru Moses, their leader, with his rod, 

Out of bondage, to the promised land of gold. 

Now Lord, dear Lord, unburden this heart of mine 

That I may of this bondage be set free, when, 

In Thy name, I go forth, in due time. 

To conquer the Destiny that binds me. Amen." 



Ill 



Then uprises the soul from the silent earth. 

More than ever impressed by the silence and gloom 

about. 
The change has been wrought, of freedom, a new birth 
Of calm and light within, no sage should ever flout. 
Like Prometheus of the olden time, 
Who suffered all the agony the great can feel. 
In the name of that Will and Power to suffer be time, 
He rises in his might, upon his face the victor's seal. 
Against the whirling mad powers of the hour. 
Defies them, and bids them do their worst. 



14 



Then flapping wings unseen beat down from the tower 

Of trees overhead ; rumbHng noises burst, 

Run along the earth, and ascend toward the hill; 

And a splash in the Lethean waters near 

Brings terrible dread, but nothing that bodes ill. 

The Harpies of the night beat upon his body here, 

In their fury, and cover him with their stench; 

The Dragons of the earth roar around him in the gloom, 

Causing his hair to rise and his hand to clench ; 

And the Old Man of the Sea tries to bind him soon 

With a spell from which he cannot escape. 

These hideous powers strive with him in vain ; 

He parries their blows, every advantage to take; 

He harries them to their woe; they are slain. 

Then all besmeared, polluted, with the blood 

Of the slain upon him, he hastens from the dark 

night of his woe 
To greet the dawn's new day uprising, with a flood 
Of crimson spray overflowing the horizon. "O — 
O glorious dawn ! O great deliverance ! O happy day 
That finds this soul triumphant on this morn ! 
Hail, noble powers of the earth! Hail! And with 

me away 
To the famous realms of the Golden Horn. 
Hail, great powers of the air! Hail! Carry me on 

pinions 
Of flaming light to Merlin's kingdom so fair. 
Hail, sweet messengers of Heaven ! Hail ! May thy 

minions 
Lead the way to thy fair Elysian Fields there. 



15 



Then the trident of the deep to him is passed, 
Flaming wings to sweep the air are at his command ; 
A reed is taken from beside the road. He blows a 

blast 
That causes the reed to tremble in his hand. 
To the uttermost parts of the earth the message flies, 
Proclaiming to the world the glorified state — 
Beneath fair, auspicious skies — 
Of the burdened soul's sure postulate. 

10-27-18 



16 



THE UNCONQUERABLE SOUL 

"The statue of destiny casts a huge shadow over the 
valley, which it seems to enshroud in gloom ; but this shadow 
has clearest outline for such as look down from the mountain. 
We are born, it may be, with the shadow upon us ; but to many 
men it is granted to emerge from beneath it." — Maeterlinck, 

Destiny ! O Destiny ! Why thy hold 
On the aspirations of men manifold.'* 
Answer ! Answer ! Ere I more bold 
Tear the leaves from thy sacred scroll ! 

1 preach the triumph of the Unconquerable Soul ! 

Down! Down! To Perdition's awful state 
Bound by the chains of thine own weight ! 
Brood over thy grievous wrongs in hate ! 
For thy conqueror more elate 
Moves on swifter than thought or fate ! 

The Soul that rose when Nineveh fell, 
And went crying thru the earth a spell 
When her crumbling walls shook and fell, 
Giving to the wicked city a death-knell 
That sent an echo down the corridors of Hell, 

Winged his way over the Mediaeval night, 
Came forth from dark Revolution's fight, 
Sang songs with Cromwell's men of might, 
And appeared to the Shepherds in the light 
On the Judean Hills that eventful night. 

17 



That rose on the ruins of Rome that day, 
Came flying from the shores of Greece away 
When that nation went down to decay ; 
Crossed the expanse of Time to our day, 
There to abide in secure triumph alway. 

The Unconquerable Soul! Versatile, the same! 
Moving onward surer than Destiny's aim 
To conquer Death and the Grave in His name, 
And rise triumphant in the glowing flame 
Superior to Destiny in most persistent claim ! 

7-30-18 



18 



PEACE! SWEET PEACE! 

"And herein are we shown once again that the human 
soul is a plant of matchless unity, whose branches, when the 
hour is come, all burst into blossom together." — Maeterlinck. 

Out of the darkness of the swift-flying night, 
With wings aglow with flaming light, 
Down, down the ministering Angel flies 
From out the over-burdened skies, 
To the stricken soul lying prostrate. 

Like the gentlest breeze that blows. 

Or the stillest current that flows, 

Or the gentlest ray of light that shines, 

Or the quietest thought expression never finds. 

He delivers Heaven's sure postulate. 

And to free the soul from burden ere the morn 
Walks from head to foot the helpless form, 
W^hich rises in the might of His power 
To witness triumph over Destiny's hour 
In the newfound freedom that knows a choice. 

The silent trees take on a lovelier hue^ 
The impending sky shows a bluer blue, 
The hills are aflame in the glowing sun. 
The streams sweetly sing of the victory won, 
At the vibrant thrill of this quiet voice. 

19 



Brothers! Brothers now! Are the race of men ! 

He would to the rescue of all come then ! 

That his fellows, even the humblest, might share 

The joy his heart has now found there — 

A joy recorded only in the Sacred Book of old. 

Heaven then floods the soul to the fill 

With a joy unspeakable to the will ; 

The Heavenly Choir burst forth in glad song ' 

At the triumph of a soul freed from wrong, 

And a Voice speaks peace ! Sweet peace ! To the soul. 

7-22-18 



2C 



THE DEAD KNIGHT 

Wrapt is the broad crest of the mountain round 
With the snows of primeval winter there ; 

Hushed are the little voices of the ground, 
Stillness stands frozen in the icy air. 

Sitting by the dark trunk of a giant tree, 

With no thought of the world's onward sweep, 

0*er thee a snowy forest of boughs, I see 
Thee in resigned beauty dressed — asleep. 

Folded are thy hands o'er a furry robe, 
With drawn knees against a silent breast ; 

With bowed head like in silent thought to probe 
The mysteries that lie in a state of rest. 

The gun at thy side, the great forest bound 
By the snows of primeval winter fair. 

And the days of search before thou wert found 
Tell of the age in which thou lived to dare. 

Truly thou wert of that far-seeing band 

Of heroic men who with Boone onward came 

To build in a fair and promising land 
A state that should have enduring fame. 



21 



Great art thou in death, most noble Knight, 
For thou wert one of the builders rare 

Of Freedom's cause, which sprang from the dark 
night 
Of its woe, to shed light on the race fair. 

Fitting is thy death, too, O great Knight, 
For thou didst depart to the Great Beyond 

Amid the lone forest thou didst with thy might 
Help to conquer, for the cause to you so fond. 

No stone now marks th^' final resting place. 
Silent trees stand sentinel above thee ; 

But an army of descendants "v^ith bold pace 
Are pressing forward to honor thee. 

Rest, O great Knight, in our faith secure, 
That we of this time may battle agsun 

For the cause that, for men, will endure. 
The cause that keeps forever free all men. 

9-25-19 



22 



SPIRIT OR MAN-GOD 

"Spirit," says I. 
"God," says he. 
Then I ask, "Why 
Not spirit for thee?" 
Now slowly he replies, 
"Since the creation of men 
God ever applies 
To the name of Deity — Amen!" 
"But, is not God a spirit, 
And they that worship Him 
Must do so with true merit 
Of truth without a whim?" 
He replies, "Is not God God, 
For we hear the Word say 
That Aaron took up his rod 
And called to God as he pray." 

"God is what to you then?" 

"God is the Super-Man King 

Who sits on the thrones of Angels and men 

And holds sway over all that sing. 

His subjects bow the knee, 

And sing and pray alway ; 

Cry hozannah with me 

To the Lord of Hosts today." 



23 



"But does this not make 

God a Super-Being like Jove . 

Of the Greeks, or the fake 

Jupiter of the Romans, who strove 

To fasten on mankind gods 

Many of every kind?" 

*'But," replies he, "Christ plods 

Over the earth, healing the blind, 

In Man- Form, does he not?" 

"True, but does this prove 

God to be a Super-Man? What? 

Because the spirit was made flesh, 

Does it hold true 

That God is only Super-Man? 

What say you? 

Answer if you can. 

Is not God rather a spirit 

With no form or face? 

Hasn't He the true merit 

Of occupying all space? 

Is He not in your heart and mind 

The same as on a Throne above? 

Is He not all present in time 

And omniscient in all love?" 

Spirit divine, in power shine 

Thruout space, time and Eternity. 

Wield thy power sublime 

For the welding of men into one fraternity. 

Over all thou art, 



24 



And over all thou ever wilt be, 
With power to touch the heart 
Of him who but seeks thee. 
Soul, call to Him who art nigh 
To every creature of the wide earth ; 
Call not Him from on high 
When thou seekest the New Birth. 



10-13-18 



25 



THE WONDERFUL TREE 

Stands the big tree, with his branches spreading wide, 
Just where the road rises to the crest of the hill. 
Commands he here a view of the whole countryside : 
Of rounded peaks that rise toward the sky with a will, 
Of broad valleys that spread far away in the distance, 
With their streams meandering amid stretches of 

green, 
Of towns that have been founded with no show of 

resistance, 
And of the glowing sun to awake in him the mighty 

dream. 

When darkness descends on the earth from out the 

Unseen, 
Quietly gathering his hosts along the streams in the 

valleys, 
He marshals them for sallies to the higher regions 

between. 
Then the gentle summer breezes move to quivering 

the leaves. 
The overarching sky is filled with myriad stars in 

position. 
The big moon peers from behind the long fringe of 

trees. 
On the mountain's crest, and the universe, in transi- 
tion. 
Lies in happy contentment about this tree in the 

breeze. 

26 



But, behold what a transformation worketh this 

dream ! 
The slain Ymir rises God-like on the glowing scene ! 
Higher, higher, and yet higher, rises the mighty tree! 
The branches lift and spread over the space between 
Earth and sky, till, Ygdrasil-like, they shoulder out 

the sky. 
Free from Time, the avenger, and the swift-moving 

tide! 
To the heart of the earth descend the roots nearby 
To the end that this soul of the universe may abide. 

Be the shelter and inspiration for the thoughts of all 

men : 
Assemble the Artisans of trade from the domain of 

the Powers 
That they may mingle with the Prophets of the New 

Birth then; 
Let the poets, with their clarified vision, multiply the 

hours 
They spend here ; bring the Teachers of mankind, in 

their turn. 
That they may drink of the cup of wisdom that ever 

flowers. 
In love, for the admiration of the race ; let them learn, 
One and all, that Destiny gives way to larger plans of 

ours. 

10-19-18 



27 



TO SUE 

The dearest friend on this earth 

That to me was ever given, 
Has taken her flight from earth 

And has gone up to Heaven ; 
There to remain with the Son of Man 

As long as the ages last, 
And longer still after we have heard 

Gabriel's trumpet blast. 



If I could only see her again. 

It would be my delight 
To tell her that I loved her 

In our struggle for the right; 
But that privilege, tho much desired. 

Can never come to mortal man. 
So my only hope is to meet her 

In that heavenly land. 



**If I never see you again, dear, 
Meet me in the world beyond," 

Where there is no sorrow to trouble us, 
No weeping around the throne ; 



28 



Where there is no darkness to cloud the vision, 

No light but the Son ; 
Where ages upon top of ages have passed 

And many victories won. 



"Yes, I'll meet you there," 

Is my pledge, strong and true ; 
For there we shall never part, 

Nor say goodbye, gentle Sue; 
There we shall worship together forever 

With the redeemed of God, 
And never be compelled to travel 

The road we once trod. 



OUT OF THE DARK VALLEY 

Dark is the valley I travel thru. 

No light to be seen anywhere 't is true. 

Strange, dark objects pass to and fro; 

Wandering around I know ilot where, I go. 

Over dry bones that rattle I stumble 

And hear hideous low noises that rumble. 

An icy shiver shakes my frame 

And springs into my being a terror without a name. 

Then suddenly from an unseen hand 

A robe is thrown about my shoulders, and, 

29 



In the glow of warmth that from the robe comes, 
A vision appears out of the darkness glum : 
Smiling faces of many children, plain to view, 
With chubby hands that beckon to you, 
Surrounded by a halo of hazy light. 
Leaving behind the chill, the gloom, noises affright, 

I follow the vision up the slope of the hill, 

Where, halfway up, I come to an arched doorway and 

a sill 
That opens into the interior of the hill. The door 

opens wide 
And I am admitted to a great hall inside. 
"What can I do for you, my friend? 
Our services are at your command without end," 
Says the doorkeeper to me. "I hardly know; 
It is all so strange," said I, aglow 
With the warmth that met me there. 

Then slowly I walk thru a hall wide and fair. 

Into which other halls lead, 

Lined with many rooms that plead 

With the weary to rest themselves awhile. 

While I thus walk, a servant meets me with a smile. 

And asks, "W^ould you rest in the room across the 

way?" 
I follow her lead and hear her say: 
"Lie quiet; sleep and rest are the best; 
You need to grow strong for life's further test." 



30 



Amid all the perfume of sweet-smelling flowers 

That beguile the slow-moving hours 

I rest and sleep time and time again 

I know not how many days, how many weeks, then, 

On a certain day, they bring me to a stair, 

Just in the center of the hill there ; 

And up the stairway I climb into the upper air. 

I behold a morn on that hilltop so fair 

That Paradise seems to be loosed on earth again, 

Returning its pristine glory to men. 

A bird carols the sweetest song I ever heard, 

The sheep graze on the slope of the hill — a herd. 

The dew sparkles in the rising sun, 

And the world overflows with goodnesses that run 

Like sweet rivers of living water then 

Thru the glad forests and fresh meadows of men 

To the broad expanse of the immaculate sea. 

On this morn and in this mood I am free, 

Feeling again the strong pulse of the tide of life 

Singing thru my veins, making them rife 

With the good old feeling of renewed life again, 

Ready to do an humble part in the race without end. 

2-21-2 I 



31 



THE SPIRIT OF THE MOB 

I 

I see a world of swamp by a world of sea, 

And an island far out in the swamp by the sea 

Like a dark speck against the sky back of it; 

Then mists and gloom that obscure the whole of it, 

As if swamp and sea have been rolled up 

And lost in the dark vapors rising up 

From foul swamp and wastes of that terrible sea. 

A low rumble thru the mists comes to me 

Out of this strange sea of darkness and gloom — 

A portentious rumble like the stroke of doom 

To the creatures of earth in peaceful state — 

One that augurs for humanity a very sad fate. 



II 



Again at the first flush of the dawn of a new day, 
I come to this wide swamp in hunter's best array 
With my comrades in all most surely three. 
The disk of the sun is just rising out of the sea 
On the other side of the world opposite mt 
And these comrades who number only three ; 
The mists hang over the swamp and obscure the sun. 
And our boat down the hollow of a stream ddes slowly 
run. 

32 



Thru the wide reaches of the swamp we make our way, 

Till, long after, not very far out of our way, 

We see the outlines of this island by the sea. 

My comrades, wishing to explore the isle, say to me, 

''Draw near this isle that we may see the more 

What we have surely never seen before." 

Thru the mist it looms so very large 

That it seems a continent floating as a barge ; 

But on drawing nearer that we may explore 

We see a sight that causes us to wonder the more. 

There on the shore of this isle lies, on leafy bed, 

With the mist-laden tree tops overhead, 

A giant, more terrible than the fabled monsters of old, 

The sight of which makes our blood run cold. 

While we lie in our boat behind the reeds. 

He stands up, shakes himself, looks over the reeds. 

We hold our breath and think not of a gun 

(Had we a chance we should most assuredly run). 

There he stands as tall as four men, or small tree. 

With huge body, bulky in the extreme, dreadful to see ; 

Long hair covers his body from foot to head 

And hangs about his shoulders down from the head ; 

Great teeth, the length of the hand of man, has he. 

With eyes most terrible as they appear to me. 

He stands erect on his feet like that of any man 

And has long claws on his feet and on each hand. 

Slowly he turns and lumbers thru the forest dark 

While we hurry away in our small bark. 



33 



Ill 



On our return, when we tell what we have seen, 
People look at us as if they do not know what we 

mean ; 
And the oldest men know naught of our report 
Save what they have heard by former report, 
That a fearful monster, Bulbo by name. 
Long ago dwelt in this swamp — the same 
Of which we speak — but they feel sure no man 
So far as they now know, or have heard, can 
Give any account of ever having seen him. 
They are much surprised at this account of him, 
But remember that a tale has been told 
That he once stirred the savage spirits of men bold, 
Causing them to unite and destroy their fellowmen — 
A story almost forgot but now remembered again. 
They know not if this be Bulbo they describe. 
But, from what they tell, he must be of that tribe. 
They fear that the legend of old may prove true 
And that some dire calamity may come as their due. 



Then mists begin to drift in toward the land 
From out the foul swamp and dreadful strand, 
And to spread themselves over the land far and wide 
Like a swift moving wind or fast flowing tide. 
These foul-laden mists fill all the air 
And stir to rage many people everywhere. 

34 



These men forget all the work of the hour 

And turn their mad energies into evil power ; 

And forget all lawful principles of the race 

In their determination to wipe out the disgrace. 

Now rumors begin to rise and run wild, 

That a fiend has stricken down a helpless child ; 

The men gather yn groups here and there, talking low 

Amid the mists that obscure them and cause the woe ; 

And from group to group the word fast flies, 

Like the swiftest, softest wing that flies, 

That Bulbo, the true Spirit of the Mob, 

Is abroad, with vengeance in his eyes — no sob, 

And that he seeks by lawless means the blood 

Of Human Beings, and will overwhelm by a flood 

Of savage rage the upholders of the law. 

Group moves together with group with hardly a flaw 

In the plan of this Savage Spirit, and, without justice, 

Under the very shadow of the Temple of Justice, 

Erected by the strongest impulse of man. 

They assemble their mad hosts for a stand. 



IV 



Before the Temple the upholders of the law stand. 
Clothed with the mantle of authority from freeman's 

hand. 
And armed with trusty instruments more bold 
Which are to secure freemen in their stronghold. 
For out in front the Mob sways to and fro. 
With quiet savage determination all the show, 

35 



Like the angry waves of the turbulent sea; 
And against the Temple bars laps wave on wave, 
With a low murmur like distant sound in a cave. 
Suddenly from out this mass of maddened men 
There rises the fearful figure of Bulbo again, 
Towering far above the tallest of his men ; 
And with a rush he leads forward his men 
Against the Temple held firm by the law's hand. 
Where men to do and die have taken their stand. 
Up the Temple steps in solid mass they rush, 
With a look of sure triumph in the first flush ; 
But a command, a flash, flash, from the guns. 
And Bulbo, with his maddened men, turns 
And disappears, as he had come, amid the gloom. 
Leaving the dead and wounded in the gloom. 



V 



The hand of Justice has been upheld on this day ; 

The evil Spirit of the Mob has fled away 

To his foul swamp and fearful sea — 

To his home on the misty island by the sea ; 

And men once more go home to see 

That they have still upheld their right to be free. 

4-23-21 



86 



III. 

DESCRIPTIVE 



37 



THE VALLEY OF THE BRAE 

I know the valley of the Brae 

With its winding stream, the Vree ; 

I know the hills near and far away, 

The hills that rise up to speak to me. 

Over these hills I go 

In the bright May morn, 

Keeping time to their spirit so, 

And to the music of the distant horn. 

I hunt the game on upland near 

And fish in the st(ream's clear pools ; 

I seek the forests shady groves to hear 

The gladsome song that ever rules 

The spirit of this forest-world, so free. 

What melody, what joy, what love ! 

What freedom, what beauty to see! 

O God ! Come from the forest-roof above, 

From below and all around in hollow dell, 

From rugged cliff and deep ravine, 

From darkest caves and trees that fell, 

From clear, cool waters that flow between 

Silent hills to the far-off sea! 

Humbre, a flat mountain, extends 
Along the southern side of this valley, 
Famed for a century, with now no amends. 
For its forest, the hunters' rally. 



39 



Here on the lower end a peak uprises 
From the plain of the mountain's crest, 
And below a narrow farm, with surprises. 
Lies in the lap of the hill at rest. 
Here the sun, like a ball of blood, 
Drops behind the distant mountain 
Into a mysterious sea-flood. 
And springs again from a golden fountain, 
More glorious than the Aurora of art. 
And swings among the worlds anew 
With power to touch their heart. 
I see the path wind by the Skew, 
Around this peak and down the slope. 
And on and on it goes without end 
Just like that strange thing, hope. 
That flares up to stay in the hearts of men. 
It winds below to the orchard in the cove 
Where my friend, the ditch-digger, lives. 
He will welcome you as did Jove, 
For out of his goodness himself he gives. 
His sign is marked In his lower lip. 
And it is the opinion of the children near 
That a man cannot as a ditch-digger sip 
The joy of labor without this mark here. 
And on to the fork of the road there 
Where the farmer-merchant gives 
His advice to the youth aspiring fair. 
And bids him God-speed while he lives. 
Hail to this man of daring truth ! 
Long may he live ere the Great Day! 



40 



As the guider of the feet of youth 

He then is sure to receive just pay! 

On to the watermill by the road 

Where the road makes a sweeping turn 

To follow the rushing rill's abode, 

And the waters that from pool to pool churn. 

Here the dusty miller takes his toll 

And grinds and grinds the livelong day ; 

While the youths vault on the pole 

And forget their homes far away. 

Up the narrow stream for a half-mile 

And we come to a cabin under the hills, 

Where a daring youth waits awhile 

For a quick dash along the rills. 

No prodigy he, nor Hercules or saint, 

But only a youth with sublime faith — 

One who does not faint 

Under dire poverty's throny wraith. 

He toils by day, and toils by night. 

And prays for just one fair chance 

To succeed in the unequal fight 

(Which he will have, perchance). 

Such an ambition, I am told, had he * 

To rise to the upward height 

That he never thought sacrificed he could be 

In the upward lift to the light. 

But such is the story I hear true, 

That he married a woman spy 

Who would have, doubtless, wrecked you 

But only made him reason why. 



41 



He passed her by 

And married another, who became 
The companion he sought with a sigh 
To help him earn that fair name. 
With the patience of our Job, 
And a faith that knows not why. 
He has now donned the robe 
To lead men to their Home on high. 
It is not the height that men reach 
Which brings all the true fame, 
But the distance traveled, I preach, 
That should bear the name. 

Follow the other direction of the path, 
From the peak up at a slow gait, 
And wonder at the beauty that hath 
Come to the forest in this lovely state. 
Stands the oak, a tower of strength. 
And the poplar, a model of perfection; 
And the hickory with no equal for length. 
And the chestnut loved in this section. 
On the side of the mountain's a cove 
Where rarest flowers of the glen 
Have made place for the abode of Jove, 
And never touched by the feet of men? 
Yes, for here a half-century ago, 
When the wild deer ran at will, 
A hunter watched the antler go 
And thought of his gun for the kill. 
After the deer had leaped beyond his range, 



42 



He remember'd on his shoulder was the gun ; 

And this he thought very strange 

That thus he had missed the fun. 

But truer than heart of hunter be 

Was love of the trim form of the deer ; 

And, in his heart, was glad, you see. 

That he had passed up the kill so near. 

We eat our lunch by the spring 

In the shade of the forest roof; 

It is enough to make the heart of a king 

Sigh, and offer himself as proof. 

You who are bound to the city ways, 

With no thought but to give and spend, 

Could learn here the glad forest ways 

And for an unnatural life make amend. 

To the Burnt Cabin we come 

Where a flowing fountain sends a stream 

Down the mountain, singing for some 

A lullaby sweeter than those in a dream. 

The cabin has gone and Nature has made amend 

By covering traces of clearing or pen. 

Such the contest between Nature and men 

That when one begins the other end. 

Rocked the cradle of civilization for a day, 

And paused here in its ceaseless march ; 

While the procession came up from far away, 

Then passed on under the triumphal arch. 

Below to the north Indians are buried. 

Showing how the civilization of the past 

May project itself into the hurried 



43 



March of the coming host at last. 

Dare not touch these for treasure ! 

Because of the peoples' feeling near, 

For it would be considered a reckless measure 

And one bordering on to Godly fear. 

The greatness of civilization is shown, 

Not by successful war on any race of men, 

But by those gallant men, full grown, 

Who honor the past for what it brings to them. 

On the upper end is Rocky Face 

Where the mountain suddenly makes turn 

And leaves in the sun a broad space 

Of sheer cliff, and broken in turn. 

Above is a long line of green trees. 

And below and all around the same. 

Dotted with red and gold, in the breeze. 

On the border of this painting rare in name. 

Grand is the view from the road 

Along the stream in the valley below; 

And many a traveler, bearing his load. 

Has witnessed the wonder of the scene aglow. 

Here the hunter chased the bear to his lair 

And waited for his return to the sun ; 

The deer was seen to bound in the air 

And disappear under sight of the gun. 

Many tales of adventure have been spun 

Around these cliffs, like the Arabian Knights, 

Or those of Boone and his gun. 

In his most desperate efforts in his fights. 

Witnessed they the onward rush of peoples, 



44 



Who rarely paused in their haste ; 

But one was left to build church steeples 

While others should clear and lay waste. 

Brother of the ditch-digger, you know, 

And like him pleasant to meet, 

But one of those simple-hearted souls, so, 

Who slide away from the contest-seat. 

Swayed by the play of forces on his feeling. 

Like the leaves of the tree in the wind. 

And got comfort from his prayer kneeling 

When spirit sweeps soul beyond the mind. 

He will preach to you of God, 

And will glow in the spirit of the mood ; 

And will turn to finding water with a rod. 

Or to sign to drive witches away rude. 

In his most serious mood you ever hear 

A strange goblin-laugh unwind, 

For he cannot but be serious, I fear. 

And ludicrous at the same time. 

Cummel, to the North, is narrow and long, 
With sharp ridges broken by many gaps. 
A throng of rounded peaks stand out strong 
Against their clear background of these gaps. 
Many paths wind around and pass 
Thru these gaps to places beyond. 
Where the tide of the world surges past 
In that endless march that goes on and on. 
Color is added to the forest green 
By tall pines on some of the spurs, 



45 



And many blooming rhododendrons are seen 

Around the cliffs by the Burrs. 

Different from Humbre by far, they say, 

Are the winding paths here seen ; 

For on Humbre along the top one takes its way 

While here many paths cross between 

Peaks, to wander down the other side 

To make union with the road 

Up and down the stream far and wide. 

Here many join in carrying their load. 

At the lower end, where stream joins stream, 

Severing the mountain free from Big Bone, 

Nature calls to her men, it seem, 

To assemble at the new "Healing Home," 

Where the purest waters of the valley 

Come forth for the healing of men ; 

And Nature aids in the sure rally 

To newness of life and health again. 

The Springs! What memories they bring! 

Of sweet whisp 'rings of love beneath 

The spreading beeches by the Spring ! 

What glad legacies they bequeath 

To the heart of youth seeking far 

The secret of happiness ever rife 

Under that pure guiding star, 

At once the hope and joy of this life. 

The Springs ! What memories they bring ! 

Here men forget their care 

And gradually lose sight of the thing 

That has become to them a nightmare. 



46 



Bring forth your healing balm, 
Springs of the mighty waters fair! 
And cast your spell upon earth to calm 
The feverish spirits of men, everywhere ! 
No lordlier castle was ever built 
In the realms of i*ule or sway 
Than stood by these Springs, built 
To drive the pangs of men away. 
Great castles are often tombs 
Of death to the highest ideals of men, 
And hide in death the babes in wombs 
Of mothers yearning to be free again. 

Near is the school house under the hill 

Where nature makes a fair display 

Of beauty in stream, valley and hill. 

Here mountains rise up far away 

To beckon the youth's mind away 

From the narrow spaces betw^een the hills. 

And cause him to look to far Cathay 

For visions the imagination fills. 

He secretly climbs one day this mount, 

At early dawn of that good day, 

And looks away to a pure fount 

From which flows a lovely stream away. 

This stream winds in broad curve 

Thru the grassy meads of this world. 

Upon its banks are the silvery trees where 

Golden apples drop down and whirl 

In the shining, quiet current of the stream. 



47 



Men move at will here 

And gather the fruit by the stream 

Where nature is at her best all the year. 

He descends and goes back to school ; 

But all day long, while trying his books, 

He fans his brow to keep it cool. 

He wonders again how the scene looks. 

His mind will not stay however hard 

He tries to confine it to his books ; 

He ponders: Is this the land where the bard 

Gleans in the fields for his books? 

His imagination carries him away 

To this world he has seen beyond the mountain 

Where superb beings toil and spin not by day, 

But spend the time looking into the fountain. 

Where the marts of trade move 

With only the will behind them. 

And where God can prove 

That man, superb man, is His friend. 

Where the earth is so very wide 

And mystery broods upon the serene deep, 

And men can travel with the tide 

And to far away countries sweep. 

A youth jostles him in passing by 

And he is brought back from his dream. 

But who says he will be the same? And why? 

After awakening from this wonderful dream? 

Not I. For Heaven has so ordained 

That men, in their striving, must gain 

A wider outlook on life, restrained 



48 



Not by the fearful storm or pain. 

The house sits between stream and hill 

And looks out on a playground wide, 

Where tall sycamores stand at will 

To protect the happy children, aside 

From the beauty they add to the scene. 

Great beeches stand by the edge 

Toward the stream, and give way to a scene 

Of rhododendron, laurel and hedge. 

Above, on the lower end of the ground, 

Stands the large oak flaring wide, 

Easily master over all around, 

Not even excepting time and tide. 

I move my hand over the rough bark; 

A whisper from this great tree 

Comes to me saying, "Trust this ark 

Of safety in all the storms that be. * * 

Above the house, to the rear. 

Rises a cliff sheer from the water's edge, 

Crowned by towering pines that fear 

Not the waters rushing along the ledge. 

Rhododendron and laurel are here, too, 

To add their crown of beauty 

To a scene no artist ever knew. 

Or had opportunity to paint as a duty. 

Flow on, beautiful stream! 

Rise higher, ye noble mountains ! 

And fulfill thy brightest dream 

In its ever-swelling fountains! 

Stand firm, ye school house yonder, 



49 



A symbol of the world advancing! 
Send your light upon men to wonder 
At Pegasus in the air prancing! 
Be to me the light that burst on Rome 
When civilization sought expansion ! 
Be the herald of that new home 
That finds for the soul its mansion ! 
Train the generations, each time anew; 
Send them forth in power to dare and do 
What men have dreamed is due 
The race that lifts up not to subdue ! 

Zigzagging our way along the crest, 

With only a path here and there. 

Climbing around peaks abreast 

And down thru gaps everywhere, 

We come finally to the Gap Field, 

Half way our mountain distance. 

Here the Gap widens each way to yield 

Space for the farm without resistance 

From the hills that cluster around. 

In the lap of the hills here 

Man has dug a subsistence from the ground 

To sustain him year after year 

For more generations than I know. 

Benjamin Wise, an old man when I 

Knew him, lived here years ago. 

A peculiar man was he, I know not why; 

For, when he met you with load on back, 

He always kept it there so, 



50 



And, no matter how long he talked, the pack 

Ever remained there, I know. 

He would walk all around you, 

Tramping down every inch of the ground, 

And with his long beard too, 

And eyes that danced around. 

He is at once stamped different 

From the other men you know. 

The children could not be indifferent 

To the man who gave them this show. 

They were afraid of his every move 

And thought him in league with Satan ; 

For this they could always prove 

Because, when he looks back, they hate him. 

But simple-hearted and kind was he, 

Wishing no one any harm ; 

He would halt you at his gate, see, 

And welcome you by giving you his arm. 

This Gap was the traveled highway 

More than all the others by far 

For passengers from the Brae 

To settlements beyond the Spar. 

From the valley of the Brae 

The path winds its way up the gorge. 

Closed in by towering peaks away 

And darkened by thick rhododendron large. 

Then drops down the other side 

To the lap of the hill below, where 

Tall pines bring the creepy feeling wide, 

And you leap from the pheasant's whir. 



51 



One dark night a lone traveler 

Passes this way toward the Brae Valley; 

The night is heavy with darkness, Sir, 

And like evil spirits that quietly rally 

To their secret haunts in search 

Of prey for their fiendish thirst, 

About the silent, dark pines perch. 

Overcoming the flush of fear, the worst, x 

Creeping thru this gloom he spies 

A light from a window ahead, 

And straight for the dwelling he hies, 

But wishes for the comfort of a bed. 

A tap at the door brings out 

The willing occupant, who plans 

A light that no one should ever flout. 

Boards, dry and long, like fans. 

Are split in pieces and brought together ; 

Then a light that flares up at one end 

Shows you the way without bother. 

He thanks him and welcomes him as a friend. 

Have you ever witnessed the comfort 

That comes to you on a dark night, ^ 

When tired and lonely, without comfort, ^ 

You suddenly look ahead to see a light? ^ 

So forth stands civilization's light. 

In the world's broad spaces dark. 

When gloom and disappointment gather might — 

Just think of the cheer of one lone spark! 

The fields, once green, are now bare 

Of those things that sustain men ; 



52 



Shrubbery and briers grow up everywhere 

And struggle to fill up the Gap again. 

So the generations always pass, 

Each succeeding the one before, 

Till the impoverished land gives up at last 

And their descendants move on as before. 

We come next to Thesalay Peak wide, 

A large, round mountain, higher than the rest. 

Where broad, level spaces project from its side 

With farms that produce at their best. 

Plain to the view of all in the valley 

Are the many glowing scenes that appear ; 

Of mists that fall over the Brae in a sally 

After sweeping around this peak here ; 

Of storms that rage in their fury near, 

Swinging along the sides of the valley clear, 

Bringing terror to the people's hearts, I hear, 

Who shudder at the awful fate, so severe; 

Of the cold winds that sweep it on winter days. 

Leaving the mists frozen dew to fill the trees 

And sparkle like diamonds in the sun's rays 

After the night has been passed in the breeze ; 

Of a scene, on a summer's day, at sunrise. 

Of the mountain glowing like the King 

Of the Christian world, when before the eyes 

Of the Prophets he became transfigured, a thing 

Transcending all to the onlookers by — 

A scene the painter wishes he could try 

To inspire him to greater endeavor. 



53 



Swinging free his brush without a sigh 
For the painting no artist had painted ever. 

This valley stretches along the Brae 

Like a trough hollowed out of the hills, 

Wider to the East, and extending away 

To a rounded point in the Western hills. 

But from the wider part. East, then 

Along the stream it narrows to a thread 

For some miles, then widens again 

To be lost in the stream's rugged bed. 

Many small farms checker the ground 

In this pleasant valley now, 

Where the thriving Tway Settlement is found, 

Composed of the descendants, of sturdy brow, 

Of men who aided Boone when 

He cast aside precedent and ease 

To open the Western Country then 

To a conquering host not easy to please. 

They poured thru Cumberland's Pass, 

Laid hands upon the mountain stronghold. 

Left men to take possession of the mass, 

And passed on with a front more bold 

Till they had overrun the Blue Grass. 

They pressed on to conquer and to bless 

Until they had encompassed the mass 

Of the broad lands of the West. 

No nobler undertaking ever came to man 

Than came to Boone and his followers! 

They extended mankind's plan 



54 



To a wider domain among the Powers ! 

When time enough elapses 

And history has been given her due, 

The record of those great collapses 

Will give place to records anew. 

Then Boone's achievement will stand 

On the pages of history as actor, 

And mankind will read in grand 

Pageant the record of the benefactor 

To whom all mankind is debtor. 

Long may his memory live in her annals ! 

Long may his deeds become the better 

To shine in dark places like candles ! 

Most of this valley was owned at one time 

By two of the family, Jonathan and Thomas 

Tway, 
The fathers and grandfathers betime 
Of all the inhabitants here today. 
Now they are buried plain to view 
In an unassuming little graveyard, a rod 
From each other, or two. 
To sleep their sleep on the breast of God. 
Far-seeing men were they ; 
For they sought out the heart of this region 
Far and near, and bought it for a song, they say; 
Now the company has grown to legion 
And promises to outnumber the valleys of Cathay, 
For here nothing is known of race-suicide 
And the many other evils that check the way 
Of men borne to life's higher tide. 



55 



They bring forth in great numbers, 

Quoting the Bible as their guide ; 

"Multiply and replenish the earth" with numbers 

And remember the day the faithful abide. 

Hail to civilization's preservers! 

Hail to these brothers of men ! 

This swelling tide will become the reserves 

Of all generations from now, amen ! 

Scotch-Irish and English blood 

Flow thru the veins of these men, 

Who will form part of the flood 

Of Anglo-Saxons to people the earth again. 

They tell us the Teuton will prevail 

In the world's monster strife; 

That he is prepared to avail 

Himself of all power that is rife. 

What is the issue? What the plan? 

Is it between Teuton overlordship fierce 

And the liberty-loving Anglo-Saxon plan? 

Then let every Allied spear pierce 

The body of a Teuton man ! 

Let the blood of nations be poured out 

For the redemption of the world-plan, 

And with our hands cast the invader out! 

They moved from the British Isles 

And came to Virginia's coast ; 

There they landed in long files 

To establish a new rule without boast. 

Thru Virginia, Tennessee and the Pass 

They made their way in time, 



56 



To where they now amass 

Liberty all along the line. 

Industrious are the people and strong, 

Relying upon themselves for aid ; 

They know the world's injustice and wrong, 

But lose sight of it in digging with the spade. 

One industry and one plan have they. 

The making of men for the new day ; 

And this thru planting and reaping, aye, 

For the ages' long sultry day. 

They graze their cattle on the hills, 

Their hogs take to the field ; 

They toss their hay by the rills 

And gather their corn of great yield. 

Religious are they always. 

Moved by emotions ever strong; 

They keep strict account of those astray 

And plead with them thru song. 

In education they believe, 

Sending their sons away to school ; 

They continually try to relieve 

The mind of the ignorance of the fool. 

Many sacrifices they make 

To prepare their sons for life ; 

Many encomiums they take 

Because of the superiority in the strife. 

The story is told of Henry Tway 

Who came along with Boone, 

That he left his home in Tennessee a day 

To travel away under the moon. 



67 



He remained in Kentucky so long 

That, when he returned in haste, 

He found his children took flight strong 

And fled to safety on the waste. 

But brought his family back to this wilderness, 

To brave the dangers of the land. 

And found a new home with freedom, I confess. 

Here he hunted the whole bear clan 

And tilled the soil for bread. 

He became the father of the Tway host. 

And at last found his bed 

Beneath a spreading tree post, 

In the winter's chilly snow, fast 

Asleep in death, amid the wilderness 

He had helped to conquer last, 

Of which he was no more to boast or confess. 

Herbert Tway lives at the lower end, 

At the broad part of this vale, 

On a rocky prominence, at the very end, 

Above the stream \s*ithout a sail. 

From the site of the house here 

The valley spreads out far away. 

Rimmed by the green of the hills austere 

That culminate in the high peak of Thesalay. 

To the rear is the orchard near 

Where apples of ever^^ kind 

Grow with a pink luster, I hear, 

To supply the wants of mankind. 

In front are the strong walnut trees, 



5S 



Stationed like men on guard, 

With their strong branches at ease 

Dropping down the walnuts hard. 

Beneath are the old flat rocks 

Where the walnuts are cracked by day, 

While life passes, but never mocks. 

Him who thus passes the time away. 

Just below, on the high bank of the stream, 

Stand an assembly of oaks large 

Where spreading branches awake the dream 

Of them floating away as a barge. 

Let thy boughs sway to the breeze ! 

Toss them high if you care ! 

Time's message comes from these — 

Grow strong in life's struggle fair. 

Above the house opposite these trees 

Is the forest of oak and chestnut grand ; 

Here the youth strays far from mart 

To learn of each single tree and 

Coax the secret from his heart. 

Go on, yearning young man! The plan 

Of this universe, and all her ways. 

Will come to you in the striving 

To solve the mystery in this and other days. 

And will abide till at Heaven's gate arriving. 

The lot, the garden, the field. 

All present themselves to view ; 

Where man helps nature to bring yield 

For those who toil anew. 

This house is greater than a castle, 



59 



Though very modest at the best ; 

For youths leave its hearth to wrestle 

In God's mighty struggle, the test. 

From many a castle sickly youths 

Come to lord it over men in power; 

They surely will get their dues 

In that final reckoning hour, 

For star-eyed men, from such a hut 

As this, may lead the world's advance 

Against monarchial power in a rut, 

Democracy's great name to enhance, 

Herbert Tway is a man of means 

Though he has not one cent ; 

For Heaven and Earth are but reams 

Of possibility in the right direction bent. 

He fights for a family of many 

With humor, good-natured humor, in his eyes, 

And with a song on his lips for any 

Occasion that does arise. 

Men about him, who saved money, would 

Save for the sake of saving it then. 

And forget their families' good 

In the selfishness that knows no end. 

But he for a larger purpose saved, 

Saved those principles of nobility fine 

And transmitted them thru education grave 

To places in his offspring's mind. 

He helped them to have greater faith 

And courage in life's struggle vast; 

And placed on their brow a greater wreath 



€0, 



Than crown for money ever cast. 

Susan Tway, his companion true, 

Too busy at her work to look around, 

Has no thought in view 

But of service to others, I am bound. 

There are souls who falter, falter. 

There are souls who fear and fear ; 

There are souls who shy at the halter 

And are sure their destiny is near. 

But she's as steadfast as the sun 

In his position among the worlds; 

She believes work is never done 

Till life into a new sphere whirls. 

When others have doubts the more 

And fears that cannot be crushed, 

She laughs at their halting as before 

And wonders why they have rushed 

Upon such lovely creatures here below. 

"When a thing's to be done, do it; 

Tides may come and tides may go, 

But the unconquerable spirit moves on to it.' 

With his faithful helpmate 

Who loves life to the very last, 

Arm in arm they march in life late 

To the sure haven of God's vast 

Port, where His love, in form of a crown, 

Will be placed on their heads sure 

For their services of high renown 

In furthering civilization's plan secure. 

Over the way only about a mile, 



61 



On a small stream, the Mawn, 

Which empties into the Brae, while 

Flowing from the heart of Humbre at dawn, 

Lives Joshua Tway, a man as staid 

As the morning star, and as wise. 

He is a workman of the rarest type, paid 

For what he does in knowing it is right. 

To the last he holds to his purpose true, 

And at a ripe old age passes 

Among the stars out of view 

To receive his reward for the labor he amasses. 

If you wish a man as a type 

Of what man should be. 

Choose this man, who was ripe 

In life's experiences, with a spirit, you see, 

As calm as the apple that grows on a bough. 

Life's storms had not disturbed the growing man 

In him, but had strengthened and shaped him 

now 
Like the strong oak whose leaves in the breeze 

fan. 
The house, the place of his abode, 
Is lodged on a steep hillside. 
Close beside the road 
That crosses the country wide. 
It overlooks the Mawn flowing by 
The side of Humbre, where a lift 
Of the eye catches a view of the mountain nigh 
In a vision that has come as a gift. 
Here sun and cloud the while. 



62 



In turn, toss their light and shade 

Over the broad summit, to smile 

Or frown upon cliff, gorge and glade. 

Here man pauses for a time 

To harness the forces of nature secure 

That he might serve His purposes betime 

For shaping a life to endure. 

Not very far up, across the Brae, 

From the home of Herbert Tway, lives 

Timothy Stiles, who married Martha Tway. 

He moves thru the neighborhood and gives 

That wholesome influence of good cheer 

That puts you always in the best of mood 

No matter where you chance to meet him here. 

He drives away the angry feelings rude 

And with happy smile and friendly word 

Causes you to forget your ill. 

You always leave him happy as any bird 

With its song of freedom to the fill. 

Who says he never lived who salves 

The little disquietudes of men each day? 

Who says he never lived who halves 

The apple with his neighbor in a friendly way? 

No soaring genius he, no man of birth ! 

No man for romance, no man for France! 

But just a good jolly fellow for the old earth — 

One who knows nothing of cunning or chance. 

His helpmate is as different as can be. 

Sedate is she, and firm as Fate, 

With no thought but of the millennium to be, 



63 



And of Christ to free men from their awful state. 
She believes in every principle of the Sacred 

Creed, 
Even to the raising of the dead to life ; 
And will remonstrate over the curse of greed 
In a world of deadly strife. 
Faithful as Mary as told in Sacred Writ 
She ever holds true to her belief, 
And looks for the great Judgment, to-wit: 
When the wheat shall be separated from the sheaf 
Up from Herbert Tway's a mile. 
On the same side of the Brae, 
And we come to where Jonathan Tway lived 

awhile 
To prove his worth in the strife of that day. 
He lived on a rounded hill overlooking the valley, 
Where Nature has prepared a strong retired 

place — 
A veritable fortress — from which to make a sally 
Into the world's stirring market place. 
Rimmed by the hills of Cummel to the rear, 
With the valley below like a blanket all set, 
And with Thesaly Peak looking up as if near, 
A scene is presented to view one can never forget. 
Two cedars, like grim sentinels, guard 
The front of the house on either side ; 
And the bold-flowing spring a quarter and a yard 
Is just over beneath the hill to one side. 
The splendid old log house here 
Witnessed the triumph of the Union arms, 



64 



And sent forth a new army without fear 

To help rebuild the country without alarms. 

Jonathan Tway, a captain of industry was he — 

A man who loved piety in the race 

And wished in preference to war to see 

The saner virtues strong in all the race ; — 

For in an age when men were exploring 

New paths for men to trod, and were trying 

To extend the new country to the sea, he adoring 

Their courage and faith was ever vieing 

With nature in an effort to set a new pace 

For making a nation from the common clay 

At his door, thereby making a stronger race 

For the mighty struggles of another day. 

He, thru thrift, honest toil, and trade. 

Secured title to most of this valley here. 

Then with strong hand, in less than a decade, 

Caused the forests to give way, I hear, 

To wide fields of waving corn and grass. 

Then his cattle grazed by the many brooks 

And his hogs in droves took to the mast ; 

Till, with barns filled, he looks 

Upon a home of plenty, in a new country and age. 

If each man built as well as the other 

(Pray tell me if this is not so, great sage)-— 

Would not men be nearer to that of brother 

In a union greater than any yet made? 

Each striving in his own way, the while, 

For the betterment of himself and neighbor, fade 

Into the greater union of all erstwhile, 



65 



Which proves man can build far better than he 

knew. 
So Jonathan Tway's philosophy centered here, 
And he found to his amaze, as time flew, 
That he had served himself and country many a 

year 
And could now enjoy the fruits of his toil 
In peace. But just then the great strife came, 
The country rocked in the balance on her own 

soil, 
And amid all this struggle and pain, 
Jonathan Tway, who had builded in love 
Far better than his Scotch forebears, now yielded 
To the summons for greater union above. 
When Father Time his scythe had wielded, 
And the last funeral rites had been said. 
His broad acres were divided, without dissent, 
Among his sons and daughters, aforesaid. 
Here since they have dwelt to this time, the 

present. 
In unity, in this way commemorating the re- 
ceiving 
Of a greater legacy than lands or houses. 
For in what more does wealth consist than in 

believing 
And trusting those about you. This arouses 
No jealousy or opposition and will last 
To the end of time. What say you 
Who have moved along too fast 
For the good old virtues of those who are true? 



66 



Hiram Tway, the youngest son 

Of Jonathan, lived at the old homestead 

Long after his father's death. Late in life he won 

The approbation of all who knew him, and led 

The community in all the Christian virtues. 

Like the Disciple John he proved anew 

That Christianity simply lived nurtures 

All the holy principles opened to our view. 

*'As a guide to the feet of youth he had no equal,'* 

Said those who walked with him every day, 

For he knew far better than others the sequel 

To the pitfalls of youth striving to gain headway. 

He would lend you his horse when he needed to 

plow. 
Or would walk with you two miles instead of one ; 
He would quietly pledge you to a new vow 
For the furtherance of the Kingdom of the Holy 

One. 
Lift up thy hand, O most beloved! 
Beckon to our most noble selves 
From thy happy Eternity, O beloved ! 
Call us to mightier deeds for ourselves 
In this kingdom of ours here on earth. 
James Tway lived here, till the lure of the town 
Caught him away in a gust of mirth. 
There he strove the day thru with men of renown 
Till he found he had reached a commanding po- 
sition 
In the struggle that goes the round. 
He became the judge with democratic vision 



67 



And strove to leave a better county than he 

found. 
That he succeeded no one will deny, 
But the politicians found they did not need him, 
So without even explaining why, 
They pushed him aside with a vim. 
But lover of the common people was he, 
And they a lover of him ; 
He will always be remembered, you see, 
Even if money and position did defeat him. 
A burst of laughter comes from the hill, 
Answered by a chorus of voices there ; 
It is none other than our leader, Bill, 
The humorist of the Tway family, I declare. 
Bill Tway meets you with a solemn face. 
But with a rare twinkle in his eye ; 
By these you may know that the ace 
Is to be played by him when the ace is high. 
Without waiting for you to speak a word. 
Says he, "Have you heard what Ben Warren did 

Sunday?" 
"Why, no. Tell me." "Well, Ben was at church 

the third 
On Sandy Creek; the whole country from Mundy 
To Big Bone had turned out. 
This was communion day, and, after the sermon. 
The wine and the bread were passed about, 
And when Ben was reached by Deacon Hermon 
He turned the cup and drank the wine down. 
This was all there was of the wine. 



68 



So, when the people retired from the house, Sam 

found 
Ben and wanted to know why he drank the wine. 
Ben's slow reply was, *I wanted warter, Sam.' " 
Following this such a laugh came 
As never comes from reading Sam, 
Bill Nye, Ward, Riley, Holmes, or Mark Twain, 
Or all the humorists that have ever been. 
He was the poetry of laughter itself, 
For when those ripples rolled on the air a-spin 
The echoing hills took them without pelf 
And passed them on to regions still fair. 
Too much work was against his religion. 
The joy of life held him like a nightmare. 
Yet he drank deeper of life than most in this 

region. 
A hunter was he by temper and profession, 
His dogs were always ready for the chase ; 
Life among the hills was to him no digression, 
For often for days he failed to return to his base. 
"Skip with me upon the hills," said he, 
"Ride with me upon the winds that blow; 
Laughter calls to me from out the sea 
Of humanity, and I must go." 
There was Thomas Tway and his wife Aleen. 
Of Thomas Tway I know but little worth while, 
But of his worthy wife, I know and have seen 
That she had the best apples for many a mile. 
The tree stood by the crib near the road 
Where the busy school children passed along; 



69 



Every day they would stop and get a load 

Of apples, and thought it no wrong. 

Worthy lady Aleen would rarely complain 

Unless the apples were getting fewer ; 

Then she would make it plain 

That many children should be the fewer. 

She had sons worthy the name 

Who walked by the precepts of God, 

And sought not the paths of fame 

Other than those that had already been trod. 

They preach and sing, and till the soil. 

And save their money like gallant swain ; 

They never enter into a broil 

Save for freedom's right to gain. 

This valley and these hills are a world sublime, 
Where mighty deeds have been wrought 
By men of all races from every clime — 
(The most heroic succeeded while they fought). 
Sir Galahad and his knights contend fair 
In the wood yonder beneath that hill. 
And David slays Goliath in contest there 
When the stone whirls from his sling with a will. 
Don Quixote passes this way on a windy day 
And bids the paltry knights clear the road. 
And Henry the Eighth is here blustering away 
When called to Byron's heaven with his load. 
The tillers of the soil, both great and small. 
From famed Egypt and the remotest times, 
Toil and labor here beside all 



70 



Those who are the makers of heroic rhymes. 
And the famed Poe, with his weird measures, 
Tuned to the spirit of a soul divine, 
Is one with brave Lowell riding Pegasus, one of 

his treasures. 
Thru all the Elysian Fields of the mind. 
And Markham is here crying the protest 
Of the soul wandering in darkness before, 
And Rice pressing on is giving no rest 
To Pegasus in the production of volumes galore. 
Shakespeare's Forest of Arden is here nigh. 
Where sun and shadow play at will, 
And man can behold nature's wonder and sigh 
For greater wonders still. 
The Golden Gems of Life are pictured now 
In the log cabin by the still flowing stream, 
And David Copperfield is wondering how 
He can reach the kingdoms of his dream. 
The church of Adam Bede is on the hill, 
Where the wild roses scatter their perfume. 
And near by is the hum of the old mill 
That louder sounds thru the gathering gloom. 
Napoleon and Alexander are ever here 
Fighting their battles for rule or sway, 
And the Kaiser is blustering to his fall near 
On the battlefields of the Marne today. 
Washington's Valley Forge is not far away, 
For there I see him kneel in prayer awhile 
To ask of Him who knows the way 
For light to lead his hosts thru the trial. 



71 



Grant is thundering away at Appomattox town 
And Sherman is sweeping on to the sea, 
Just over that mountain of fair renown, 
To their victory and ours sure as can be. 
Lee surrenders, uniting the nation again, 
But the old Ship of State rocks in the storm 
When the brave Captain, just to all men, 
Goes to his reckoning hour amid the storm. 
Patrick Henry proclaims liberty for all, 
Adams pleads for justice to the race of men, 
And Webster warns of the impending pall 
Over the nation that will unite again. 
Jefferson works for democracy the more, 
Jackson strives to uphold this light, 
And Lincoln and Roosevelt come to the fore 
To give wider range to Freedom's right. 
Transfigured are the hills, valley and road 
To Palestine in the days of the Savior of men, 
And many disciples carrying their load 
Wander over hill and countryside again. 
Jesus feeds the multitude, true to no form. 
On the hill that shoulders out the sky. 
And Moses on the mount writes out his reform 
To be broken to pieces in anger near by. 
Abraham offers up Isaac as a sacrifice too 
On the high mountain beyond the Brae, 
And Jesus goes to Calvary with followers few 
In the storm that shakes the world to-day. 

9-18 

72 



THE PINNACLE 

I stand on the topmost peak of the Pinnacle 
Bathed in the splendor of the morning sun! 
What beauty, what glory run 
With the coming of my lord, the sun! 
Is this the air of Heaven itself I breathe? 
Is this truly the light of fair Eternity? 
Who knows? To me it matters much, 
For, in this world of splendor, I am free. 

The gray rocks, craggy, old and worn, 

Silently greet him as they have for aye ; 

The green trees, greener in the radiant flame, 

Await the glory of his fuller hour ; 

While the peak, long known to war and song. 

Receives with composure this great benediction. 

Just below, spread out like the broad expanse 
Of a mighty lake, lies the wavy, billowy fog, 
White, white, and forever white. 
Whose waves fade away into the distance dim 
Like the sunlit waves of the jasper sea. 
Till fog and peak, peak and fog, are one. 

Far down in the town in the valley below 
Men grovel and work and strive for gain. 
While on this high, ethereal peak. 
Far from the daily toils of men. 



73 



Amid the bewitching scenes of an early dawn, 
I let the eager wings of my soul 
Try the free air of that nobler world 
Sung by the bards of an ancient time. 



5-3-16 



CUMBERLAND GAP 

Between two towering peaks the Gap lies, 
Famous for a century — no mystery ; 
And from its strategic position vies 
With the traveled highways of history. 



I 



In that dawn before American history began, 
With a native forest this Gap was filled, 
Which was part of that Wilderness grand 
That spread beyond where the hills are rilled. 
This Wilderness spread over the valleys south, 
And all along the great mountain chain, 
Where waters of rivers start for the mouth. 
To widest extent of forest domain. 
To the north this Wilderness spread over 
Narrow river valleys and mountains wide, 
To the very edge of the Bluegrass, moreover. 
And then on and on, far, by slow-moving tide. 
Here rhododendron clung to the rocky slope 



74 



And iris beside the dripping cliffs grew ; 

The deer leaped up and bounded over the slope 

And the bear prowled in places known by few. 

Columbine blossoms quivered in the breeze 

And myriad flowers covered all the ground 

Where Indians prowled beneath great trees 

And hunted their game without making a sound. 

Not even a path the great forest knew, 

Save that of wild beast or sure Indian foot; 

The whisper of the trees in the breeze knew 

Not the clash of arms or step of boot. 

The pristine glory of this forest-world 

Calmed the spirits of beast and savage man, 

Ere the new forces of men began to whirl 

Thru this rugged forest-laden land — 

Ere the march of Empire took its way 

O'er mountain fastness and wild glen. 

To spread itself under so great a sway 

As has never been known to the race of men. 



II 



Then the surging tide of Empire rose 

In the European cradle-home of the race ; 

Moved in mighty volume to the shore 

And was then off in a wild, mad race. 

The tide surged over ocean wide 

Periling all in mighty storm and wave ; 

Then plunged upon the Eastern shore, to abide 

In a new land, a new Freedom to save. 



Then spread along this shore wide 

And surged against the Appalachian wall, 

Falling back upon itself; then the tide 

Plunged, swerved, and sought along the wall 

An outlet to the vaster regions beyond. 

Then on a fair day for furthering Empire 

Plunged thru Cumberland Gap, and beyond, 

Beneath the rock-ribbed Pinnacle's spire. 

There rode upon the very crest of this wave 

A man who was made of the common earth — 

Yet a man who had an Empire to save 

In the great effort of the race for wider berth. 

Alone in the forest with his God 

He dreamed dreams as did the great Moses, 

And went forth with his gun as a rod 

To clear the way to be strewn with roses. 

Then gathered to his aid a band of men 

Noble as those of Cromwell's famous band. 

And set them to carve a highway then 

Thru to the very heart of the Western land. 

I pause here before this man's greatness. 

And the nobility of those who aided him, 

And bow my head in shame before the lateness 

Of Kentucky in paying due honor to him. 

No Knight of the Round Table, though often 

told. 
Ever surpassed this man in his persistent plan 
To direct the reins of Empire in a way so bold 
And make a better way for the triumph of man. 
A bold Knight of Democracy was he; 



78 



For, when the swelling tide pressed on, 

He stepped aside and waited in the lea 

Of the ship,. till government was erected thereon. 

Then moved on with the rushing waters of the 

tide 
Into the wider regions of the great West, 
And there sought a place for awhile to abide 
In order that he might view Democracy's test. 
Then in peace he went to his tomb, 
Which rests in quiet upon the long rocky ledge 
Overlooking the Kentucky tide's boom, 
And the wide region from the cliff's edge. 
Then this Gap became the traveled highway. 
Greater by far than all the rest, 
For the swelling army marching along the way, 
To spread over the wide lands of the West. 
The tide moved on, spreading as it went the more. 
Till it had encompassed the whole of the West ; 
Then halted along the wide Pacific's shore 
Till Democracy had triumphed from the burning 

test. 



Ill 



Then, as the years passed, the tide upon itself 

turned, 
And the Gap again became a strategic position. 
The tide rolled up from the South, then turned 
And met the tide rolling down from the North — a 

transition 



77 



That caused the two terrific forces to clash 
In a supreme struggle that was to decide 
Which force was to assume control, after the 

clash, 
Of the policies of the nation from tide to tide. 
First one army and then the other held the Gap 

secure. 
Planting the cannon all about on the mountain, 

side, 
Thinking that in this way they could immure 
Themselves from danger, and swing the balance 

to their side. 
The tide plunged thru the Gap, from one side 

first. 
And then from the other, till in the end 
The tide from the North, with mighty plunge, 

burst 
Thru the Gap and held it to the end. 
And now, after the lapse of many years' time, 
The scars of the fierce warfare are to be found : 
Roads strung along the mountain sides in a line, 
To wind beneath frowning peaks and then down 
Into the valleys below, where the camps of men 
Are spread far and near about the mountain's 

base ; 
Cannon placed on the Pinnacle's top, rocks hold 

the names of men; 
Pits found along the tops of low ridges in a long 

row 
Where the many bodies of the men who died 



78 



Were taken from the earth, after the awful 

throe, 
To be reinterred where this had been denied. 
Here brother fought against his brother 
In the most fearful strife that comes to men. 
Each thinking he was the one to further 
The cause of the nation — the other to make 

amend. 

The fury of the tide has subsided long ago, 

And over a royal highway the tides of men 

In peaceful pursuit pass to and fro 

Without thought of renewing the strife again. 

The Gap, hollowed out by some ancient tide. 

Between the twin peaks of the mountain stands 

Overawed by the Pinnacle's broad side. 

And fearful of the thunderous cave's hands 

That grip it from beneath, submissive now 

To the quiet generations of men that come and go. 

In their persistent effort to show how 

The tides of men come that never cease to flow. 



3-27-21 



79 



THE NARROWS AGAIN 

The plunging river, walls of rock 
Thirteen hundred feet on either side, 
Tell the story of a mighty struggle 
That formed this gorge so wide. 
Formed ere the star appeared in the East 
Over the Savior's place of birth, 
Long before the advent of man 
Upon this globe of whirling earth. 

The trembling earth, a rumbling noise, 
Rocks crashing down the high mountain, 
And, enveloped in a cloud of smoke. 
And gushing from its side the fountain, 
A mountain appears, extending far 
Across the path nature has set 
For the regular course of river and star, 
And all things that move with them yet. 

A thousand streams against this wall 
Rush. Their waters rise to the crest, 
Forming a surging, angry lake, 
Which sweeps away to rest 
Among distant peaks, there to prepare 
For the coming struggle between these 
Mighty forces of nature for the pass — 
A struggle which nature cannot appease. 



80 



The water creeps over the high crest 
And falls to the valley below in mist. 
And like the sea that fears not the ship 
The mountain is not alarmed at this; 
But laughs at the very small force 
That would contest this great pass 
With a mountain wonderful as the sea, 
Having just sprung into existence en masse. 

But time is allied with the stream 
Which increases in volume and violence 
Till, before the mountain is aware, 
A wide gap has been cut whence 
Issue the wrathful waters that fall 
With a roar to rebound among the hills. 
Like the battle of the gods on Olympus 
The contest is waged with mighty wills. 

Nor ceased that contest, age after age, 

Till the stream in triumph had won 

By plunging to the mountain's very base. 

Flowing away peacefully under a glowing sun. 

Then the waters divide, and each stream 

Seeks his channel to glide as of yore. 

Making famous for all time the pass 

That had yielded to Vulcan strokes the more. 

Then comes peace to the antagonists bold, 
And each tries to hide the scars 
By throwing a mantle of dark green, 
Decorated with red and gold, like stars, 

81 



O'er the mountain's rock-ribbed sides. 

The river flows over the bottomless chasm here, 

And the gods take up their abode nigh 

For a peaceful reign of a thousand year. 



4-4-18 



THE PANAMA CANAL 



The wealth of the Indies all Europe dreamed; 
The truth of a world on heroes beamed. 

Great Marco Polo wrote a book then 
That stirred the imaginations of all men. 

Columbus dared what men feared — 

The terrors of the deep ; a continent appeared. 

Balboa to conquer across the isthmus came 
To a placid ocean without any name. 

He drew his sword, plunging into main, 

And commanded the waves to be subject to Spain, 

Then besought his country to listen to his claim 
For a great canal to link main to main. 

This, while Hudson, Davis and Drake, 
Gilbert and the rest, sought the way to make 



82 



The famed Indies by the northwest route, 

Which they found closed — to them a very sad truth. 

Magellan found the strait which bears his name; 
But four hundred years proves Balboa's fame. 

De Lessep, the Frenchman, heroic in his might, 
Tried to carry out the seer's dream right 

By building a canal from ocean to ocean ; 
But private enterprise gave it up as a notion. 

Then bold Roosevelt, linking dream to deed, 
On the scene came to dare and to do with speed 

What others had tried by resolution vain, 
Thru all these years — to link main to main. 

Ships of every land, O come this way! 
Link East to West — usher in the new day! 

When from the Mediterranean and Atlantic's tide 
The trade of the world shifts to the Pacific wide. 

The Panama Canal 1 The brave, brave deed, 
Stands as a monument to the heroic breed 

Of a noble man, who dreamed and wrought, 

And wrought and dreamed, for ideas others fought. 

He made it possible for the spices of the East 
To arrive at the West for the all-world feast. 

5-23-16 

83 



THE GARDEN 

Ho! ho! ho! 

To the garden we go 

To dig with the spade ; 

Now you take the hoe 

And we'll make a show, 

Nor ever think of the shade. 

Dig! dig! dig! 

It's worth more'n a fig 

To make the dirt fly ; 

Now burst the clods 

O'er many rods, 

And don't take time to sigh. 

Rake! rake! rake! 
Many strokes we take 
To make the ground fine ; 
Then make up the beds 
Without thinking of the Reds, 
And draw the rows to a line. 

Gee! gee! gee! 

You just wait and see 

How we plant the little seeds ; 

We strew them in a furrow 

Like animals in a burrow. 

And protect them from the weeds. 



84 



O! O! O! 

How they do grow 
In lines so very straight — 
The raddish, lettuce, corn, 
In the bright May morn, 
Nor ever think to wait. 

Hi! hi! hi! 

It's time for us to spy 

For weeds and every enemy thing ; 

We'll take our hoe 

And dig just so, 

And listen to the birds sing. 

Great! great! great! 
Come to the gate. 
Behold a sight to see ; — 
Tomatoes blushing fine, 
Beans in a line. 
And melons all ripe for me. 

Red! red! red! 

Flowers in a bed 

Along the wide path, too; 

White ones there, 

And yellow ones share 

In beauties of garden for you. 

85 



Past! past! past! 

Summer going at last 

And the pleasures of the garden, too; 

But nature gives health, 

Far greater than wealth, 

And a chance to learn of you. 



2-22-16 



THE FISHERMEN 

Fishermen three 

Went out to see 
If any fish there were in sight. 

The day was fine, 

In went the line. 
But the fish they would not bite. 

Minnows it took 

To go on each hook, 
And the bait they cast out very far ; 

But there they sat. 

And forgot to chat, 
While they frowned on an unlucky star. 

To another place, 

With anxious face, 
For luck, they said, they moved once more, 

Till ill at ease. 

Themselves to please. 
They stretched on the grass on curving shore, 

86 



Some thought 

That they ought 
To leave without giving any warning; 

While others said 

That time only sped, 
And they would never leave till morning. 

Just then away 

Went the line astray, 
And the waves quivered under the terrified 
strain ; 

The fisherman leaped 

To his feet 
And seized his rod with anxious strain. 

All his force 

Rushed to one source 
At the touch of the quivering rod in his hands. 

His eye on the line, 

With grip on reel fine, 
He leads the fighting fish to where he stands. 

And all the shore 

For once more 
Is alive with the shouts of happy men 

As each tries 

His new flies. 
And seeks a new place to try them then. 



87 



For a six-pounder, 

With flounce and flounder, 
Has been held up to all the waiting view ; 

And the new hopes 

Of men and ropes 
Have all been revived and stirred anew. 

Again the fun began 

Right under the span 
Of the bridge across the quivering lake; 

All caught fish, 

As many as could wish. 
And carried them to their lodge to bake. 

Then over the wine 

They spun the story fine 
Of how they caught the fish more and more; 

And left alone, 

They'll go home, 
And never forget to tell the story o'er and 
o'er. 



3-4-16 



88 



AUTUMN 

The Kenton hills are now aflame 

With such a mad desire ; 
Goldenrods afield are the same 

With yellow to admire. 
Red-gold, amid the dying green, 

Reign in profusion here, 
Blended delicate hues between 

On hill and vale so near. 

Squirrels are hoarding many nuts 

Ready for winter's blast; 
Leaves are filling up all the ruts 

To hide the falling mast. 
Chilly streams in the quiet vale 

Wind by the shocks of corn ; 
And the clear winds without avail 

Cause a shiver in the morn. 

Yellow pumpkins are in the field, 

The straw is in the stack; 
Groaning haylofts are made to yield 

To the strain of their pack. 
Crows caw and caw the livelong day 

From the bare trees and hedge ; 
And blackbirds sweep down and away 

In droves above the sedge. 



89 



Apples, with pink lustre rare, load 

The trees in orchard near ; 
Glad chestnuts drop down by the road 

In the wide woods, I hear. 
The hick'ry nuts are gather'd in 

For quiet hours at eve ; 
The walnuts are dried with a grin 

That mock not nor deceive. 

Autumn is here in all her sw^ay 

On ev'ry hill and vale ; 
The best of all the year, for aye. 

Is near for our avail. 
Nature blends her colors ever 

In such true varied hues; 
And the lap of plenty will sever 

From want and all her dues. 



IO-15-18 



90 



IO-I3-I8 



THE AUTUMN SUN 

All set is the sun 

In a misty autumn haze ; 
Like a red-orange ball won 

From out the stellar ways. 

Behind the dark pines cold 
How large he looms and fair! 

How like fairy fruit of gold 
He hangs on boughs there ! 

From the North blow the winds, 

A chill is in the air ; 
But the autumn sun ever finds 

The bleakness very fair. 



91 



AN OCTOBER DAY 

WITHOUT 

Gray clouds hover low, 
A thick mist fills the air, 

And in the street is the show 
Of dreariness everywhere. 

Dripping wet are the eaves, 
Puddles stand in the street; 

And half-bare are the trees 
Your eyes everywhere greet. 

The men shiver as they pass 
And walk straight ahead ; 

The October chills force amass, 
Ever with fearful dread. 



WITHIN 

Cozy here is the room 

With a glow from the grate 
Casting a halo with a boon 

Over those in happy state 



92 



IO-20-I8 



Seated the half-circle round. 

Gas flames chase each other up 
The asbestos back like the hound 

When the wild chase is up. 

Now here, now there, then away 
Thru the asbestos they go, 

Chasing their desire in their way 
With satisfaction aglow. 

The smiling books look down 
From the shelf in the case, 

And invite you to sound 

The mysteries there they trace. 

The victrola in the corner stands 

Fair with its glad desire, 
Ready for the touch of hands 

To unloose the music you admire. 

The pictures hang on the walls 
In their quiet, secure place. 

That you may trace the halls 
Of ocean or woodland space. 

The family of three seated here 
With books in their hand, 

Feel the glow of happiness near 
W^hile united in happy band. 



98 



THE HUNT IN FLORIDA 

When October's chilling breeze 

Hails forth in Kentucky, 
And you see everywhere falling leaves, 
With the long arms of the trees 
Stretching forth in gaunt array. 

Then up and away 
To the fairer land of eternal flowers 
For a quiet place to pass away the hours. 

To the sunny land of palm and pine, 

And the great swamps too ; 
To where sweeping prairies meet the pine 
In their far-away sweep to the brine. 
For thee I pine, O land so fair! 

With loveliness ever>n;\^here, 
And a name so charming that he who reads 
Will sigh till he plunges within thy reeds. 

Long and straight are the roads there, 

Over them we go, 
For the wild game that's fleeter and fair, 
And hides in cooling swamps everywhere ; 
For the chase across the open pine-land, 

Across the prairie-land, 
To the big swamps, the marshy sw^amps, below 
Where, when pressed, all the fleetest deer go. 



94 



Then retrace your steps with downcast look, 

And sore disappointment, 
To the hastily built camp whence we took 
Our course that morn without compass or book. 
There to plan the next day's chase, 

In a surer place, 
For the game we know is bound to be there 
From reports our faithful spies declare. 

Then to the chase again, you men. 

With all the dogs, too; 
For hope rides on the wings of morn again 
To lead the hunters on over heath and fen. 
Slowly we go, with the dogs ahead, 

Just lately from bed, 
To the cooling swamps just over the way 
Where the deer feed by night, not by day. 

The old hound moves up slowly then 

To the palmettoes there. 
Sniffs the air, and starts off faster again 
Across the open woodland before the men. 
With his head in the air a bark resounds. 

Bringing up all the hounds ; 
Thru the pines near the marshy ground alack 
Leaps forward the leader of the whole pack. 

A crack of the palmettoes, the flash of a tail. 

And the deer is up. 
Over the open woodland to hit the trail ; 



95 



Boom, boom, from the guns, and he begins to fail, 
Then falls to the ground limp and lifeless, 

And with no spitefulness 
Has the deer come to this fateful end, 
For the name of hunter I shall ever defend. 

But there he lies, fat, sleek, and fine, 

Upon the short grass. 
What a pity to halt this fleetness at this time 
When the deer is in all his prime! 
My conscience says I must forever pay 

For time spent this way, 
And he who takes the life of the least 
Must ever think of naught but the feast. 

Then Lord, dear Lord, forgive, I pray; 

It is my true desire 
That I may be freed from guilt this day, 
From the distressful pangs that won't fly away. 
I must see more than the feast in the deer, 

The trim form of the deer. 
And life to me must always be dearer, dear. 
In the beauty of palm and pine and deer. 



10-25-18 



96 



ADOWN THE WOODLAND WAY 

Adown the woodland way 
Elves sport and play 
For our delight today. 

The wonder of the wood ! 
That brings all good 
To the heart that would 

Interpret its meaning 
In careful gleaning 
Near the tree leaning. 

Close beside a cove 
The tangled vines rove, 
And flowers, I trove. 

Show happy faces fair, 

In the balmy air, 

All around, everywhere. 

Adown the woodland way 
Elves sport and play 
For our delight today. 



7-16-18 



97 



"THE HANGING ROCK" 

Far above the water's edge 
Hangs the rocky ledge, 
Rugged, stately and still, 
Strong with the strength of the hill 
From which he springs. 

A movement of waters nigh, 
A fringe of trees against the sky. 
Clusters of flowers on the ground. 
And with the music of birds 'round 
All the forest rings. 

Far above the eagle swings. 
Close to the rocks the iris clings ; 
Fishes glide thru the waters below, 
And from afar true lovers row 
To this safe retreat. 

When the shades of evening draw near, 
The lovers glide away without fear; 
They pass as if in a mystic dream 
The great dark object by the stream, 
And oft the tale repeat. 



98 



3-2I-I6 



For ages on ages past 
He has defied the elements to the last ; 
All the rains of a thousand years, 
The snows and storms' awful fears, 
The river's whirling tide. 

Masterful, patient, sublime. 
He reposes here and bides his time 
While the cycles of the ages pass all. 
And while kingdoms rise and fall 
With the swell of the tide. 



99 



THE TRAILING ARBUTUS 

Trailing, trailing, onward the arbutus goes. 
Along the hillsides and up thru the coves. 
Around the cliffs with the trees fcM" a screen. 
And into the dark gorge by the ade of the ravine. 

He trails beside the streamlet, rippling sweet. 

And clambers under \ines and over moss so neat; 
He weaves pretty figures on the brown fori^ floor 
And en\~ies not the great trees above him any more. 

He trailed the hills of old New England, south. 
And came down to a very wide harbor's moatli — 
There to greet our earnest Pilgrim FathoB ol yore 
And welcome them, one and all, to our new shore. 

He trailed south along the great mountain chain, 
Nor ever stopped to consider his distant gain, 
Tin he had reached the "Land of Flowers" 
And had become a wekxHne guest in quiet bowers. 

White down is upon his fresh leaves so green, 
A flush of pink on his petals may be seen ; 
And contrasts are his 'winding stem so brown 
And the bare trees far above the ground. 



lOO 



His list 'ning ear is close to Nature's heart — 
He early knows all her soothing, winning art — 
So the warm sunshine of windy March makes rife 
All his sleeping energies, and spurs them to life. 

Just then a blast from the north sweeps down 
And covers w4th snow all the ground. 
The tall pine beneath the load is almost spent 
While the laurel everywhere is bowed and bent. 

Grim old Winter holds universal sway once again 
And frowns from ev'ry rugged cliff and glen ; 
But little does he know he plays the old clown, 
For the sure promise of Spring is on the ground. 

And just where the path makes a sweeping bend, 
Close beside a rock with sheltered laurel, then 
The arbutus shows his cheery face, hopeful and gay, 
And awaits the disappearance of the snow in a day. 

Away flies the snow before the warm sun — 
Already a complete victory has been won — 
And Spring in full sway holds out her glad hand 
While Nature stirs to new life in all the land. 

2-S-I6 



JUl 



THE "BURNT CABIN" 

This cabin stood on the broad plain of the mountain 

top 
By the clear, cool waters of a fountain never at rest, 
Where a world of trees spread a canopy of leaves 

overhead, 
And tangled vines showed nature in primitive mood 

best. 

Here the wild fox dug his hole unscared, 
And the frisky squirrel jumped and played all around; 
The raccoon prowled in search of food day and night, 
And the deer lolled at his ease or went with a bound. 

This was the first cabin in this region far and near, — 
A pioneer in a new land and a new age ; 
It followed in the wake of that brave leader, Boone, 
In a greater dash than was ever made by king or page. 

No sooner had it been erected, and a clearing made, 
Than came a mighty sweep of roaring, devouring flame 
And razed this fair cabin to the ground, 
Leaving naught to mark the spot but ashes and a name. 

This seemed nature's way of strongest protest 

Against the invading hand of ruthless man; — 

A protest which is at once full of prophecy, 

And filled with important meaning for the race of Pan. 

102 



We talk of civilization and her rapid strides, 

Of the inventive genius of man and the needs of the 

hour, 
Of the tilling of the soil under scientific guides, 
And of the brave deeds of the warrier when linked 

with power. 

Great are these and the times that broght them forth ; 
But in the great march of civilization thru the ages 
Something has been lost in sweeping away these forests 
To give place for history numbered by volumes in- 
stead of pages. 

Have we not lost some of the calm power and patience 
That come to us thru the woods and trees? 
Have we not lost some of the wonder and vision 
That come to us in a world of green at our ease? 

Then forever stay the hand of ruthless man ! 
And give us to roam these glorious woods free, 
Where nature calms and broadens the soul of man 
In preparation for this life and the world to be. 

6-3-15 



103 



THE LONE PINE 

On the lone peak of a mountain high 
A stately pine stood a whole century ; 

Often with wind and storm he did vie 
In his struggles for mastery. 

But deep-rooted, with a firm hold 

On earth and rocks immovable, 
He bade defiance to wind and storm 

And the thunderings of the elements innumerable. 

From his lofty eminence enthroned 

He looked down on a vale of much renown. 

Where went an enchanting river that flowed 
To encircle in his arms — a town. 

There many a hunter stood beneath his cover, 
Watching for the an tiered deer to pass ; 

There many a lover stole thither 
To rest in the shade on the grass. 

There a bird sometimes perched himself to sing 

His songs of gladness and delight; 
There flowers would bloom in spring 

To greet the early morning's first light. 



104 



A change : flashes of lightning come and go, 
The thunder's loud roar is in the air ; 

The fateful hour has come, and, like a hero, 
The stately tree has fallen fair. 

Nor fell that tree without a noble fight ; 

For often we hear people say. 
As of a great man who stood by the right. 

That he is remembered, even unto this day. 

1 1- '02 



105 



THE DANDELION AGAIN 

Some flowers grow in distant mountain coves, 
Some cling to the clefts of rocks in droves, 
Some stand upon the great plains so wide, 
Some beneath the cover of brown leaves hide. 
Some gladden desolate valleys in their beauty, 
While others remain in our homes from duty. 

But the dandelion does not behave in this way. 
He forever grows beside the regular trodden way 
To cheer and gladden the heart of busy man. 
In his ever persistent effort to try to scan 
For his joyous labors the new distant fields. 
Which are to bring forth for him great yields. 

He clings to the worn soil with all his might. 
And often rears his happy face just in sight 
Above the beautiful carpet of native green ; 
For he seems only to want his face to be seen 
That he may contrast his color of golden hue 
With all the varied surroundings in his view. 

Only one in the very early morning you may see, 
But just wait and look, if you are to believe me. 
And the very next morning will bring a great host. 
They all cheerful come without pomp or boast, 
And turn their glad faces to the arching sky 
To view the chariot of the Sun-god passing by. 

106 



Then up rises from the ground a lengthy stem 
With a white downy ball on the upper end, 
Composed of many little dandelions with wings 
Ready to ride upon the first breeze that swings 
By, to carry them away to a far-distant place 
To propagate with their own hands a new race. 

Who says the dandelion is only a wicked pest 
And should never have any secure place to rest 
In this common every-day world of ours? 
Heed him not. Go on , humble brother ; the Powers 
That were great when the old worlds were new 
Will help thee to cheer the noble toilers anew. 

1-30-16 



107 



THE WOODLAND 

Down by a quiet stream that pursues its way 
Thru a narrow valley between two hills, 
A woodland extends up the slope far away, 
Tuned to the music of many rills. 

The giant trees that tower against the sky 
And cast their benign shadows upon the earth, 
Are the shelters for the thoughts of you and me 
No less than for men of all races and birth. 

I go to this woodland season in and season out 
And draw from it my inspiration and thought; 
I range this woodland all around, about. 
And see w^hat wonderful works God hath wrought. 

Not a sound is there to be heard an>nvhere, 
Save the occasional rustle of the squirrel in a tree, 
Or the sudden chirrup of the wild forest bird, 
Or the measured beat of the universe with me. 

I quench my thirst at its flowing fountains 
And stand quietly by its dashing waterfalls; 
I look away beyond to distant mountains 
And watch the shades of evening play over all. 



108 



I sleep beneath a broad canopy of leaves 
And dream of the primeval forests of old ; 
I awake with all my senses clarified, — 
A flood of glory rushes over my soul. 

Earth recedes ; I am carried on pinions 
Of thought to beautiful airy realms above, 
Where the glory of the two worlds ever meet 
In the everlasting forests of the gods of love. 

I shall not soon forget that in the morning of life 
This wood became to me a companion, a friend; 
It taught me that joy and gladness were rife 
And that nature would help me to comprehend. 

Spread forth your light, your shadows and shade, 
And all the beauties and glories of an ancient wood ;* 
Let the world of mankind learn your trade — 
The uplifting of life to the beneficent and the good. 

5-2-15 



109 



THE WHIPPOORWILL 

Whip-p'r-will, whip-p'r-will, 
Comes the plaintive, sad cry 

From the far-distant hill 

As the evening shades draw nigh. 

Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, 

Strong, clear and shrill. 
Comes the answer from the hill 

Where dark shadows lie still. 

Darker gloom by the stream, 
Darker hills against the sky, 

Solemn thoughts for your dream. 
Accompanied by this pensive cry. 

Whence thy plaintive cry, 
O bird .of the sweeping wing? 

What makes thee sigh. 
Thou sad, inscrutable thing? 

Is poor Will thy brother 
Who, in the long ages gone by, 

Was punished for some other, 
And for him you now sigh? 



110 



4-8-16 



Or is poor Will the Muse 

Who inspires thy sad song 
And compels thee to use 

Thy cry against the oppressor's wrong? 

We cannot hear thy woeful song, 

Out of tune with the season ; 
Summer has come without a sigh ; 

Thy song is without any reason. 

Then back to thy mountain glen, 
And upon thy nest, without a song, 

Far from the haunts of men, 
Brood over thy grievous wrong. 

Take with thee all the gloom, 

And thy sad, sorrowful tune; 
Leave me to my thoughts for a boon, — 

My soul would to nobler things attune. 

Return not to our habitations; 

But remain in thy secluded cove high, 
And plague not our meditations 

With thy sad and melancholy cry. 



Ill 



SPRING IN THE MOUNTAINS 

Robins appear 

In the orchard near 

The same time of year 
As they have for many years, time out of time; 

Whippoorvsdll's shrill 

Cry, on yonder hill, 

As shadows grow still, 
Pierce the still gloom out of tune with time. 

Violets blue, 

With Heaven*s own hue, 

Often greet you 
In field and lane as you wander with a will; 

Jonquils yellow, 

The jolly fellow, 

Careless of his yellow, 
So tall and straight, meets you with a thrill. 

Maples' flame, 

Redbuds the same, 

Do both proclaim 
Beauty on the dull background of hill near; 

Dogwoods white, 

Looking like the sprite. 

In the calm night, 
Bedeck the slopes with no thought of care. 



112 



Squirrels rustle 

On trees ahustle 

With life and bustle, 
When the buds of the bare forest begin to swell ; 

Chipmunks clatter, 

With chatter, chatter, 

All the day and after. 
As you glide thru the open woods so well. 

What does it mean, 

All this life, I ween, 

By hill and stream. 
Where brown hills keep company with dull care . 

Spring in full sway. 

From throat and spray. 

Heralds the day 
That life is astir in mountain and glen, everywhere. 

5-I-I8 



113 



PINEVILLE 

Girded by Cumberland's waters, 

Guarded by high mountains, 

Lies our dear old Pineville 

Amid the swelling fountains 

Of joy, the imagination fills. 

Hail to thee, Pine\411e! 

Hail to the magic of thy hills! 

To thee we give three cheers 

For the heart that knows no years! 



10-23-18 



114 



THE CLUMP OF CEDARS 

On a hot July afternoon 

Falls a heavy, refreshing rain, and soon 

The whole of the visible earth looks refreshed, 

In which every leaf, stem and flower is enmeshed. 

A clump of cedars close by our tent, 

With that life of theirs not very far spent, 

And, with dark foliage, stand rich 

Against a bluish-gray sky, which, 

In the harmony of things without a breeze, 

Shows beneath and above the trees. 

The tallest cedar of the clump the sun's rays tip, 

And, in the bright light of this tip. 

Beads of water like diamonds shine, — 

And sparkle with the thoughts of mine, — 

Which, with the dark bulk of the bodies of the trees, 

The straight, short stems that support these, 

And a rich coat of green grass beneath. 

Form an artistic picture which I bequeath 

To him whom the love of nature holds 

In the pure visions it ever molds. 

8-9-21 



115 



IV. 

PATRIOTIC POEMS 



117 



JUST FORTY-TWO 

Just forty- two 
For me and you ! 
To-day I welcome with delight; 
For many years ago I first saw dawn of light 
On this new day. The draft is now in sight, 
And I'm to leave for France to fight. 
O what a world for me and you ! 
To-day I am just forty- two! 

Just forty-two 
For me and you ! 
How patriotism surges at my heart ! 
I now welcome the chance to thrust the dart 
Clear thru the foe, and to perform my part 
In struggling world for freedom sure of home and mart. 
O what a world for me and you 1 
To-day I am just forty- two! 

Just forty- two 
For me and you ! 
How glad I am to see this day ! 

When old-world systems crumble now to sure decay, 
And from the ashes rise to wider sway 
Democracy, triumphant then for aye ! 
O what a world for me and you ! 
To-day I am just forty- two! 

119 



Just forty-two 
For me and you ! 
From flaring flame that has been set 
Will come redemption sure of this old world well set! 
The God of War men will assuredly forget 
When Love, and Peace, and Freedom have all met! 
O what a world for me and you ! 
To-day I am just forty- two! 

Just fort\'-tv\'o 
For me and you ! 
Hand me the weapKDn by your side, 
And let us cleave the enemy line wide ! 
Then shall we sing as we move \^dth the tide 
Of Freemen to where Victory doth now abide ! 
O what a world for me and you! 
To-day I am just forty-t^^ol 

8-21-18 



120 



THE ARMY ON PARADE 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 

The hosts of the Lord move on 

Over the streets of Cincinnati town. 

Grim warriors of the world, such as Cromwell knew, 

Declaring the doom of Militarism and the Crown 

That rushed upon the world their bloodthirsty crew. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp. 

The hosts of the Lord move on 

Over the streets of Cincinnati town. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 

Down the street they swing 

Between the human walls on either side. 

The thunder of doom's in the tread of their feet; 

Monarchial power totters for the plunge 'neath the 

tide 
Of Victory they are sure to meet. 
Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
Down the street they swing 
Between the human walls on either side. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 

The cheers from the throng burst on the air 

As column after column passes by. 

**We are ready, one hundred million strong," 



121 



Says the banner in the hands of a patriot nigh ; 
A mighty wave of patriotism sweeps the throng. 
Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
The cheers from the throng burst on the air 
As column after column passes by. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 

With hats in hand men bare their heads 

As the stirring march is played. 

Grim are the faces of men everywhere 

As the determination that the Hun be flayed 

Grips the throng of Freemen there. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 

With hats in hand men bare their heads 

As the stirring march is played. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 

Down the long corridors of Time 

I hear the treading echoes of the millions to come. 

Star-eyed, they ever move with a firm tread 

To new fields of triumph for all the race 

That knows how to follow the dream without dread. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, 

Down the long corridors of Time 

I hear the treading echoes of the millions to come. 

9-25-18 



122 



V. 

LYRIC STRAINS 



123 



MAMMOTH CAVE 

O the name of it now, 
O the fame of it now, — 

Mammoth Cave; 
O the whole of it then, 
O the soul of it then, — 

Wondrous cave. 

O the error of its make, 
O the terror of its quake, — 

Darkest world ; 
O the quiet of its space, 
O the riot of its face, — 

Maddest whirl. 

the wonder of its halls, 
O the thunder of its walls,- 

Mighty cave; 
O the depths of its pits, 
O the depths of its pits, — 

Darkest cave. 

O the height of its domes, 
O the plight of its cones, — 

Fearful cave ; 
O the piles of its cities, 
O the files of its ditties, — 

Greatest cave. 

125 



8-9-21 



O the winding of its stairs, 
O the finding of its airs, — 

Wondrous cave ; 
O the stars of its dome, 
O the bars to its home, — 

Hidden cave. 

O the storv' of its streams, 
O the glor\- of its dreams, — 

Wondrous cave ; 
O the file of its lore, 
O the pile of its store — 

Priceless cave. 

O the ages of its time, 

O the pages of writ fine, — 

Timeless cave ; 
O the echo of its halls, 
O the echo of its falls, — 

Mammoth Cave. 



12S 



THE MILLPOND 

Behold the mill's wide pond, 
With outlines of a bowl, 

And peaks that rise beyond 
To join the mountain fold. 

Beneath the falls it lies, 

Adorned with greenest sprays 
Of growth, and trees that rise 

Above the drooping sprays. 

Down in the glassy depths. 
The long fringe of trees vie 

With peaks in greater depths 
Of beauty, deep as a sigh. 

On rocky ledge above 

The mill in silence stands, 

Where the miller in his love 
Once toiled with dusty hands. 

He kept time with the hum 
Of the mill in his song, 

Like tides with ceaseless hum 
That ever move along. 

127 



The silence broods on the pond, 
In quiet ev'ning shades, 

And peaks peer way beyond 
Abode of darkest shades. 

The miller's spirit moves 
With whisper of the trees — 

The strange omen that proves 
The mystery of these. 



4-3-21 



128 



9-20-20 



THE PINE TREE 

Out the depth of the forest green 

Arose the tall, grim pine ; 
Like a plumed knight of old he rose 

In his stature sublime. 

Out over a quivering lake 

He waved his plumes adieu ; 
Like the waves of the deep to me 

Were rise and fall so true. 

Dark against the evening sky 

He loomed, so large, so deep; 
Rising was my soul's emotion 

So strong that I could weep. 

Rooted deep in soil of past age, 

With legend at thy feet, 
Thou hast reared thy form aloft 

A fairer time to greet. 

Long may thy plumes wave there on high. 

In thy new faith sublime; 
Teach us the lesson of the past, — 

With it legend entwine. 



129 



AN AVENUE OF TREES 

An avenue of trees against the sky 

Is like the hopes of men that never die. 

The gentleness of the breeze in the trees 

Is like spirits that know the essence of these, 

Down the shady avenues of the world 
The spirits of men continue to whirl — 
Tenuous spirits, imbued with hope true, 
That echo thru the ages a meaning for you. 

9-5-20 



130 



THE GOAL 

The goal! The goal! Has it been gained at last? 
What of this goal? How appears it cast? 
Long has been the hard struggle for the goal, 
Many the heartaches for want of gold 
To pursue the aim of a larger life, 
Many the trials in the fearful strife, 
Many the disappointments to the last, 
Many the sighs for the good days past. 

The goal is but a roll so very thin, 
A roll that seems to mock me with chagrin ; 
Only a roll that comes in the long file. 
Only a roll that speeds the step a mile. 
What of struggle and trial does it tell? 
What of the dream by the wayside well? 
What then of all the years that intervene? 
What of the old vision, what of the dream? 

Ah ! The roll is but a symbol so fair 

Of the strivings of years to gain the rare 

Peak of the visions of a youthful soul ; 

Only a resting place is this new goal 

For the new day uprising. Then soul, arise! 

For out of the glowing distances now rise 

The vision of a new goal, brighter by far 

Than the new day's harbinger, the morning star. 

131 



From goal to goal we travel all the day, 
Like the pilot of the air who sailed away 
To foreign shores with praiise of a nation. 
Planted within by divine creation 
Is the greatest goal the world ever knew, 
The goal that arose when the stars were few. 
The goal of Hope that flares up in the soul 
To beckon man on to conquer as of old. 

Stand forth great anchor of the mighty soul ! 
Hold high the light caught from distant worlds 

old 
As time ; flash the way to newer desires ! 
Herald the reign of new uprising empires — 
Empires that spring surprising from decay, 
Overturning systems outworn for aye. 
Lead the way to Merlin's kingdom in the air 
Where perfect souls contend so very fair. 



6-12-20 



132 



THE DANDELION 

O dandelion! O dandelion! art thou true? 
Or art thou a fairy from the realms of the blue? 
Or art thou a star in a beautiful sea of green — 
The rarest reflection of the heavens to be seen? 

Thou art surely a star from the realms of gold, 
For thou hast multiplied like the stars of old ; 
And thou art set in as beautiful a sea of green 
As any of the stars on the crown of the queen. 

Just as the Sun-god i'n his chariot at dawn of day 
Urges his flying steeds to press on their way, 
All of the dandelions stand with their faces nigh 
As if in supplication to their creators in the sky. 

Then, when the stars have disappeared from view, 
In the light of the sun, while the day is still new. 
The dandelions fold themselves up secure 
And await the return of their prototypes so pure. 

I-28-16 



133 



6-23-18 



RHODODENDRON 

The rhododendron's abloom 

By the water's edge ; 
Pink and white glow at noon 

Above the rocky ledge. 

Waves of foliage green 
Mount the hill's crest; 

While the flowers a-creen 
Stand on its breast. 

Were ever flowers seen 
With the beaut^' of these? 

Rare in setting bet«'een 
Shining water and trees. 

Came them from the Mount, 

The abode of Jove? 
Or from Heaven's own Fount 

Of God's pure love? 

How they came to this stream. 

To cliff and glen, 
Must remain with the dream 

In the hearts of men. 

But the joy they bring 
To the yearnin'g heart 

Is a fountain that may spring 
Into the highest art. 

134 



7-1 5-1 8 



LIFE 

Life is a stream 

That ebbs and flows ; 
Thru the world a-dream 

He ever onward goes. 

He flows between meads 
Of the broad earth, 

Where the city pleads 
For a wider berth. 

He leaps waterfalls 
To churn and churn ; 

And rushes by the walls 
Where campfires burn. 

Flows over rocky ledge 
With rippling sound, 

And views the sea's edge 
Whence he is bound. 

Then joins his eternity, 

The Jasper sea. 
In one great fraternity 

With you and me. 



135 



"LIVE WHILE YOU LIVE" 

Live while you live! 

What can be wiser? 

What says the miser? 
What, then, is it to live? 

Live while you live ! 

Is life only pelf? 

Is life all for self? 
Does life ever forgive? 

Live while you live ! 

Is life all roses? 

Is life all posies? 
What think you who live? 

Live while you live ! 
Is life a chance 
To play and dance? 

Or is it ever to give? 

Is life in the struggle 
Where stony path 
Is climb'd at last 

In the great final struggle? 

Is life expectancy that runs 
Beyond the grave? 
What think the brave 

Who fight under burning suns? 

1 36 



6-29-18 



Is life ever a stream 

That ebbs and flows, 
And forever onward goes 

Thru the world a-dream, 

And joins his Eternity, 
The immaculate sea. 
With you and me 

In one great fraternity? 

Is life a caldron vast 

Of burning mass, 

Of churning fast, 
Of all its elements en masse? 

Will it turn out gold, 
With all the dross. 
At fearful cost. 

Cast aside from its hold? 

Give yourself is to live ! 

Is this life's note? 

Then I quote : 
''Ever give while you live!" 

And give yourself today ! 

Life is fleeting ! 

Life is defeating 
Our every effort to stay! 



I a? 



LOVT 

My heart yearns for the love that sings 
Deep in the ver\- nature of things; 
My soul ever longs for the wings 
To fly upon the waves of God's love 
To drink at His pure fountain above 
In the knowledge of the surest love. 

Away from the noise of the battle's rage, 
Away from the strife of life's misty page, 
Away from the fool who talks like a sage, 
I would explore the depths of things; 
To seek the love crushed by cruel kings. 
And to find a \'ibrant voice that sings 

Of the world's great injustice and -wTong; 
To know whj' this voice changes to a song 
Of triumph of the f ast-mo\4ng throng. 
I would know the love in the heart of one 
Who toils beneath the burning sun, 
And the soldier who moves with battle won. 

I would know the love beneath the wrong, 
I would know the love of those not strong — 
The love that bears the struggle without a song. 
I would know the love of laughter and jest, 
The love of all Ufe that moves the best, 
The love that rises from the burning test. 



138 



My heart yearns for the love that sings 
Deep in the very nature of things ; 
My soul ever longs for the wings 
To fly upon the waves of God's love 
To drink at His pure fountain above 
In the knowledge of the surest love. 



7-22-18 



139 



MEN 

There are men who talk, talk, 
There are men who pray ; 

There are men who walk, walk, 
There are men who run away 
To live another day. 

There are men who cheat, cheat. 
There are men who steal ; 

There are men who are neat, neat, 
There are men who feel 
No honor in being leal. 

There are men who preach, preach, 
There are men who strive ; 

There are men who teach, teach, 
There are men who thrive 
Working for all the hive. 

There are men who plead, plead, 
There are men who seek; 

There are men who read, read, 
There are men who are meek 
Victims of those who reek. 

There are men who work, work. 

There are men who win ; 
There are men who shirk, shirk, 

There are men who begin 
With the blowing whin, 

140 



8-I-I8 



There are men who soar, soar, 
There are men of revision ; 

There are men more and more. 
There are men of decision 
Who follow the vision. 

There are men who boast, boast. 

There are men who brag ; 
There are men who toast, toast. 

There are men who drag 
Others into war a-gag. 

There are men who fight, fight. 

There are men who fear ; 
There are men of might, might. 

There are men who come near 
Ruling the old sphere. 

There are men who travel, travel. 
There are men who roam ; 

There are men who unravel, unravel, 
There are men far from home 
Lashed by the stormy foam. 

There are men who are men, men. 

There are men like gods ; 
There are men who then, then, 

Perform with glowing rods 
Miracles like the gods. 



141 



MISUNDERSTOOD 

I walk thru the Narrows, 
Where once flew Indian arrows, 
And pluck many lovely flowers 
To carry away to quiet bowers. 
I behold the mountain, battle-won, 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, 
And stand in wonder before its beauty. 
I am misunderstood — a sacred duty. 

I go with a true friend to rest 

Where this mountain rises to the crest. 

We sit above a flowing fountain 

On the protruding shelf of cliff-mountain 

Overlooking a hollow-shaded valley. 

We assemble our books for a rally 

With the poets of a former time. 

We are misunderstood — an awful crime. 

I help the weary woman with her load 
And plow for the tired boy by the road ; 
I would aid the girl toiling in the sun 
And hurry to save the drowning one ; 
I speak a word to cheer the weak 
And ever shun the pretending-meek ; 
I hail the despairing man in the street. 
I am misunderstood — it's not meet. 



142 



Sometimes I don't go to church on Sunday 
And fail to pay my bills on Monday; 
I seldom read to family members 
And smoke my pipe lit with embers; 
In the Spring I fish in the clear stream 
And come home with fish, a-beam 
With what rare joy and gladness! 
I am misunderstood — it's all madness. 

Are you a searcher for hidden beauty 
And the happiness that is free of duty? 
Are you a lover of the lowly of the race 
And all those who cannot move with the pace ? 
Do you admire all nature, too, 
And to yourself ever try to be true? 
Then up and dare and do for all ! 
Misunderstood — I hear the chorus fall. 



4-2-18 



143 



THE UNION OF SYMPATHY AND SKILL 

Miss Sympathy walks down a path, not forlorn, 

In a beautiful park on a bright May morn. 

Her flaxen hair, blue eyes, and trim form 

Are in keeping with the sweet expression on her face — 

no scorn. 
She is in love with all life, bird, flower and tree. 
It is a glad Spring. The birds chatter free. 
One birdie has fallen from its nest and injured its 

wing; 
She lifts it gently, the poor helpless thing, 
To place it again in the nest. 
Mr. Skill comes into the park, to rest 
From strenuous labor, from the opposite side. 
He leisurely walks up the path wide. 
His dark hair shades a firm but serious face, 
And in his keen black eyes there is a trace 
Of genius plainly written there. 
His neat, slender form completes the man fair. 
He admires the symmetry of walk, 
Flower-bed, tree-group, and winding chalk 

Of the path up the hill. He comes 

To where Miss Sympathy is trying, like one who runs, 

To adjust the birdie in the nest; 

But the nest has been pushed aside with zest 

And won't hold the birdie. Mr. Skill bows, 



144 



And, after requesting if he may aid her, vows 
He can safely adjust the nest on the bough. 
While she wonders how. 
He adjusts the nest to its former position, 
Wherein she places the birdie — a transition 
From pain and distress to security and rest. 
Then, after introducing himself, thinking it best, 

He departs to meet her afterwards in the same park. 

There grew between them love — a spark. 

And then this spark became a flame. 

Thru which Miss Sympathy changed her name. 

As time went on, years a few, 

There was born to them a lusty girl, so true, 

In whom Sympathy and Skill 

Were united with a will. 

She grew to womanhood in due time 

And took upon herself the vows of a nurse betime, 

And it has been said, and said so true, 

That no one had a touch more tender for you, 

And an eye and a hand with greater skill, 

Than this fair woman, yet woman still; 

But I have a guess that the angels know 

She is one of them in her work here below. 

2-2 1-2 I 



145 



MY MUSE 

My Muse is ever a rhymester, 
Choosing his place as a timester 
Who will jingle along fine, Sir, 
If the mere jingle is the thing. 
He will perch himself aswing 
The bough, and promise to wing 

His way to heights of the blue. 
Like the lark that bids adieu 
To earth in early morning's dew 
To rise to the heights unknown, 
Singing^a sweet song all his own. 
But my Muse has never been known 

To keep his promise, to me dear, 
For he ever makes a start, I fear, 
To be dashed to earth again near. 
But this he will always do, 
Regain the same bough anew 
To try other directions a few. 

Yet, my dear Muse, you do fail; 
Before these promises I do quail, 
And consider them of little avail. 
If you wish to keep my trust. 
Perform the good deed at a thrust. 
And abide with me as you must. 



146 



Then, if this be denied me, 
Remain forever in thy lone tree 
Where thou canst, in time, see 
Thou 'tempt'st the impossible. Sir, 
In the world of glad song astir 
With the energy of genius awhir. 



7-1-18 



147 



THE IMAGE 

Thou grave Image of old, 

What stories hast thou to tell 

Of kingdoms which rose and fell 
In the long centuries before the age of gold? 

What dost thou know of the kings 

Who ruled these kingdoms by the sea? 
Did they ascribe their right to thee, 

Or to the power that from a selfish nature springs? 

Speak, thou grave Image, speak! 

I would know the secrets of the ages 
From thine own lips — secrets of the sages 

Who molded the thought of the high, the low, the 
meek. 

In thy hollow eyes and lof t\- mien 

I read the record of thy nobility*: 
Thou art surely a god of great fidelit\% 
For whom the sacred fires flashed in the silvery 
sheen. 

What mother in humble prayer to thee 
Bowed the knee to ask thy blessing? 
What child to worship thee caressing 

Was taught to lisp a prayer, a prayer from the 
heart to thee? 



148 



What father went in thy name 

To war against the neighboring tribes 
And brought back trophies as bribes 

To win for himself in the native assemblies great 
fame? 

\Vhsit tiller of the soil 

Laid the fruits of his labor at thy feet, 
And besought thee imploringly to meet 

His expectations with a bounteous har\'est for 
his moil ? 

What tradesman bartered his wares 
In the open marts of trade or hall? 
Did he ascribe to thee all? 

Or did he keep from the sale of his wares all as 
fares? 

What hunter went forth to the chase, 
Armed with confidence in thy name, 
To bring back to his worthy dame 

The wild boar, or the other great monsters of his 
race? 

What artist didst thou inspire 

With a vision of the flame divine, 
Which caused him to confine 

His efforts on the walls of hut or cave to thy de- 
sire? 



149 



What man defied thee there 

And refused to believe in thy power? 

Did he go to the reckoning hour 
Mistrusted, berated, and on his Hps no prayer? 

Didst thou know of Montezuma and his gold, 
And how wonderfully he reigned 
Before the coming of those who feigned 

Righteousness, while all the time they sought 
nothing but gold? 

Didst thou know of Cortez, the bold, 

Who laid waste a fair and happy land. 
And forced his conquering gold-mad band 

To plunder the ruler of his government, houses, 
and gold? 

Thy secret thou wilt not give? 

Let me see : Wast thou not the hope 

Of men long before the coming of the Pope? 

And wast thou not the inspiration of all who live? 

Then count not thy religion vain, 

For in the cycles of the ages as they go 
Is it not of the greatest good for the race to 
know 

That all life is real and not something we feign? 



5-9-16 



150 



WONDER AND BEAUTY ABOUT ME 

All about me is the wonder 

And beauty to the fill ; 
I am companion of the thunder . 

And lightning by the rill. 

I am in the beauty of the morn 

As free as free can be ; 
I grow with the growing corn 

In the expectancy that be. 

I wing with the bee that sips 
The nectar from the flower ; 

And plough the waves with ships 
That go to their destined hour. 

I stand at attention with the deer 
At slightest quiver or sound; 

And wave with rippling wheat near 
To feel the quail on the ground. 

I rise with the lark that sings 

To his heart a sweet song; 
And go with the dead that wings 

His way to a world without wrong. 

151 



7-1 7-1 8 



I am the growing child the while 
To feel the pulse of life anew ; 

And ever march with the long file 
To Destiny's eternal due. 

I am in love with all life, 
Life is in love with me ; 

I move with all this beauty rife 
To a destiny sure as can be. 



CONTENTMENT 

You feel resentment 
Toward contentment 
When all the world, 
In its mad whirl. 
Is seeking her 
In every place astir. 
And rightly so — 
Not there, you know. 

But look afield 
For the scenic yield ; 
Or walk by the stream 
With thoughts a-dream ; 



15i 



Or behold the peak 
That to me must speak; 
Or read in the fountain 
The wonders of the mountain. 

On a fair May day, 
Not very far away, 
Sitting there unseen 
By the quiet stream, 
Watching sunbeam 
Chase sunbeam 
Up the still line 
You fish with fine. 

Lying at ease, 
Yourself to please, 
In the open wood. 
Where shadows good 
Sport and play, 
And the sun all day 
Shines thru from aloof 
The forest roof. 

Look in the fountain 
Imaging the mountain, 
Where the shade. 
That knows no trade. 
Darkens the ground 
Far around. 
And where green moss 
Is proof against loss. 

158 



5-4-18 



On mountain peak, 
With nothing to seek 
But the view afar 
Of valley, hill and spar, 
Where hill on hill 
Is'piled, till 
Mountains rise high 
To meet the very sky. 

Reading the song. 
That knows no wrong. 
Of your favorite writer 
When the day is brighter 
Far less than noon ; 
Then all too soon 
The time goes by 
With no thought of why. 

Join the throng 
With the sweet song 
Of fine contentment. 
And feel no resentment, 
If, in the silent eve, 
Yourself to please. 
You seek a quiet place, 
The stars to trace. 



154 



9-4-18 



THE BEE 

How doth the bee distill 

The honey from the flower? 

How doth he get the will 

To employ moments of the hour? 

Who taught him the sure way 
To gather sweets everywhere? 
Where doth he get his pay 
For the time he employs there? 

O poor me! How can I tell? 

Could I the secret unfurl, 

Life in me would be a well 

Of goodness overflowing the world. 

And men would forget their woe 
In a new brotherhood of the race ; 
And would forever forget the foe 
In a world-loving embrace. 

All life then would be sweet 
As the honey from the dew ; 
And the faults of men would melt 
Into ether of the rainbow's hue. 

The bee ! The lesson he teaches 
To the yearning sons of men ! 
What to them would be the reaches 
Of the peaks of song sung then? 



155 



4-4-18 



HALT! IN YOUR MAD RUSH 
FOR WEALTH 



Halt! Your mad rush 
For the gold of the hills 

Would make the gods blush 
For shame of your ills. 

Halt ! Your sheer madness 
To seek the wealth of valleys 

May bring you in sadness 
To sweep our alleys. 

Halt ! Your gay dance 
For mere pleasure only 

May lead you to no chance 
To keep from being lonely. 

Far greater is the wealth 
Of beauty in rose or peak, 

Far greater the wealth of health, 
Of which I speak. 



156 



SEEMING INEQUALITY OF THINGS 

I buy the things I never get, 

Heaps of books not sold ; 
I try forever to forget 

Life's sordid things so cold. 

I hope for what I never reach, 

To sing a glad nev/ song ; 
I long for that sure strength of speech 

That builds a house gone wrong. 

I pine for what I've never known, 
The love that kindles a flame 

Of high resolve, unfolding its own 
Soul to enduring fame. 

The slaves of men ride for their health 

With fair princes of song ; 
The knaves of the world hide their wealth 

Purloined from the mad throng. 

Where is the equality of all men 

In the sight of a just God? 
Where is the Divine Sequel then 

Of the riddle of the rod? 

I pray for the freedom of men, 
The brotherhood of the race ; 
A still small voice speaks to me then — 
"It's all found in the mad race." 
9-25-19 

157 



THE BOOKSELLER'S WARES 

What does the Bookseller sell me 
In the book of poems I buy? 

What does the Bookseller tell me 
When I ask the price for the buy? 

Does he sell me what he bought 
That he a fine profit may make? 

Or does he tell me that I ought 
To hand over a two-dollar stake? 

He makes a profit from his wares, 
Or else he would assur'dly fail ; 

But he, too, has a load of cares 
In heaps of books without a sale. 

He says truly it's worth the money. 
And far more than the mere cost; 

That, in its pages, I'll find song's honey, 
And time spent there will not be lost. 

Then he sells me hours of glad leisure, 
Moments of happiness the more ; 

He sells me a whole mine of treasure, 
All pure gold to the core. 

158 



He ever sells me rare new visions 

In subtle, suggestive song; 
He sells me strong resolute decisions 

To wage unceasing war 'gainst wrong. 

He sells me enrichment of soul, 

And fairer fruits of the mind, 
That aid me to comprehend the whole 

In relation to this narrow field of mine. 

His profit? Much less than mine, 

And surely it must ever be ; 
For what I obtain from the mine 

He only guessed when he bargained with me. 



IQ-27-18 



159 



6-16 



THE ROBIN 

The robin piped ; 
Nature stirred 
Without a word. 
The earth was covered 
With a carpet of green 
At the call of the bird. 

The trees budded, 
Leaves came, 
Flowers bloomed ; 
A flood of golden light 
Came out of the night 
With the bird groom'd. 



160 



THE HILLOCK'S STORY 

All stony the little hillock lies 
Wrapt in the weeds of many a day ; 
All smiling the happy valley tries 
To supply the wants of man for aye. 

All faded is the flowers' bloom 
Which makes itself just barely seen, 
In struggling long for place and room 
Among the weeds so pale with green. 

All golden the faithful vale now shines, 
In the morning sun, with waving wheat; 
Transformed is soul of hill betimes 
Which here now finds his safe retreat. 

Like a merry trav'ler, who now sails 
On life's far tides, in calm, anent 
The fairy isles, he happy sails 
To the fairer vales of his content. 

Do I now hear the Master say: 
"For unto ev'ry one that hath, 
(And hath done striven in the way). 
Shall be given (in the aftermath) ; 

But from him that hath (it) not, 
(And hath not striven in the way) , 
Even that which he hath (now got) 
Shall be (forever) taken away?" 
11-3-18 

161 



7-1 7-1 8 



UNIVERSES 

There's the universe of the sea 

With its lion and clam ; 
There's the universe of the land 

With its beetle and man ; 
There's the universe of the air 

With its eagle and bee ; 
There's the universe of God 

With the Savior and me. 



162 



VI. 

QUATRAINS 



163 



EXPECTANCY 

O Expectancy ! What a gem thou art 

Set among the rough stones of reality ! 
To me thou art ever a part 

Of that vague thing men call finality. 



6-14-18 



MIRACLES 

How events crowd into an hour 
For the making of a nation ! 

How God works in power 
For the saving of creation ! 



7-17-18 



DEATH AND LIFE 

Death is a transition 

Of position ; 
Life is the position 

In transition. 

165 



MEN AND HOPE 

Hope flares up to stay 
In the hearts of men, I wis; 

Will you tell me, pray, 
What men are without this? 



THE DIVINE URGE 

Springs up in man the divine urge 
To overcome his narrow fate ; 

Like swelling ocean's greatest surge, 
A law of nature to compensate. 



I2-IQ-20 



MIRRORED IS THE WORLD 

Mirrored is all the world 

In the fountain from which I drink; 

Continue men to whirl 

Thru the small world in which I think. 

12-10-20 

166 



VII. 

SONNETS 



167 



HIGHLANDER TO HIGHLANDER 

Hark, the sound of the bugle 

O'er the stretch of unfolding centuries! 

Onward sweeps the sound thru the valleys 

And echoes from mountain side and cove. 

Rise up, ye noble Highlanders, and hear 

The call of your brothers across the sea : 

"Release your lyric Muse, and pour forth 

In heroic strains, as in the days of old, 

The stories of your griefs and agonies of soul ; 

The tales of your courage, patience and faith, 

In your wanderings and triumphs 

Of these mighty four hundred years. 

Hark back to Scott with his noble, romantic lines, 

And to the royal Burns with more musical rhymes.' 

II-7-15 



169 



THE TEACHER 

Who says the teacher teaches only for pelf 

In this the greatest work of the hour? 

It is he who is blind to the teacher's real self 

And has not fathomed his wonderful power. 

Far nobler is his well-wrought art, 

Far nobler the calling in which he plays his part. 

He becomes the foundation stone of a mightier state, 

The true builder of the brotherhood of the race ; 

He declares all wars to be of an evil fate 

And toward the dawn of final peace will ever face. 

He builds in the minds of men the lofty dream 

That will lay foundations for empires of the soul ; 

He creates new desires in men that seem 

To make them strive in a much larger role. 

6-25-15 



170 



AMERICA 

In the world's wide space 

Between two mighty oceans, 

Where the new continent broadens 

As broadens the soul of man, 

And where, not by accident but by fate. 

The timely discovery was made 

By the world's most dauntless heroes. 

There looms on the horizon of the New World 

A NEW COUNTRY— a country that means 

''Opportunity" 
To the daring, yearning soul 
Seeking freedom and those who are free. 
Blessed freedom ! Thrice blessed the free ! 
In a country where the minds and souls of men 

broaden 
Like the mighty expanse of the immaculate sea. 



5-15-16 



171 



THE VISION 

Lord, in this whirlwind hour, 

When rebellion shakes the world, 

Making Right submissive to the power of Might, 

And the fearful storms continue to whirl 

The world's masses into the darkness of night. 

Give us a great vision of thy sacred creed. 

Help us to free ourselves from this fight 

Of crime, arrogance, selfishness and greed! 

Help us to see this war's awful horror 

In the true light of the peace of to-morrow. 

Give us a vision of these fighting millions 

With the stories their lives have to tell ; 

Give us a vision of worlds beyond our ken. 

Give us a vision of how to live among men. 

3-30-16 



172 



THE SOUL 



"Truly there are centuries in which the soul lies dormant 
and slumbers undisturbed." — Maeterlinck. 



Out of the chaos of things — 

Darkness, mystery, discordant elements, 

Waters, land, and creeping things, — 

Out of the whirlpool of teeming life 

Came a wandering embryo soul. 

Thru ten million-million forms it passed. 

Grew and changed, changed and ever grew, 

Till Destiny, armed with a mighty purpose, 

Lodged it in the body of a little child. 

And separated from its spiritual universe. 

Here it lay dormant for a time, 

Till one day it took possession of this body 

And went forth to hear the music of the Spheres 

And see the glory of a New Heaven and a New Earth. 

12-17-16 



173 



TO R. C. H. 

Come, my friends, with me today, 

And let us seek a quiet place away 

From the toil of those who fret and sigh, — 

On the crest of yonder mountain high, 

Where columbine casts a beauty about our feet 

And a flash comes from ev'ry red bird we meet. 

Let us look away to distant peaks that rise 

To greet the morning star, looking wise; 

And, still beyond, let our imaginations sweep 

To other worlds which the laws of nature keep. 

Let our souls ever commune, and in unison be, 

As when we first met, and you opened to me 

The vast Elysian Fields of Literature 

And bade my life ascend there and be secure. 



6-7-18 



174 



THE MOUNTAINS 
I 

Behold the mountain's lofty summit wrapt in the mists 

of the early morning — 
The shifting, flying mists that are seeking its cavernous 

recesses as retreats ; 
The lightning's quick flash on flash follows in rapid 

succession ; the warning 
Peals of thunder reverberate along the mountain's 

sides, and, rolling on, repeats 
Itself- with such volume as to astonish the beholder 

crouched beneath its crest — 
He, the searcher for beauty or hidden treasure, of an 

age forgotten long ago. 
The storm rages, the rain comes down in torrents 

around the beholder at rest. 
And all the waters of a thousand rills leap over crags to 

the valley below. 
A change : The rain ceases, and the mists begin to lift 

and fly away ; 
The world of trees look refreshed and the movement 

shows rejoicing in every tree; 
The rugged cliffs loom thru the green verdure as if for 

an age and not a day ; 



175 



And the chirrup of a bird may be heard as the man 

shakes himself of his shelter free. 
The resplendent sun pours a flood of beams upon the 

bewitching scene, 
And the mountain, as beautiful as Mount Ida of old, 

is crowned Queen Irene. 

7-4~i5 



II 



The mountain rears his form 
To struggle with the storm. 
Blow storm ! Blow ! And roar 
Down the gorges the more ; 
Lift spray from rushing stream 
Like hurr'ing steeds in dream ; 
Whirl the leaves in the air, 
Bring down trees everywhere ; 
Smite the cliffs in the face. 
Keep up the wild mad race. 
And when all has been done, 
Ye storms, ye have not won! 
The hero's robe ye tore ; 
Ye gods, he won once more. 

12-9-20 



176 



I-IO-2I 



III 

My heart leaps with the rills 

Of far-famed hills ; 
Trips thru meadows a-dream 

By silver stream, 
To fair isles of Content, 

Where boats, anent 
These isles, sail at their ease 

On placid seas. 
Then swing upon the breeze 

Thru balmy trees. 
Or float upon the waves 

Past quiet caves 
To pure enchanted place — 

Rest from mad race. 



IV 

Leap up, ye hills! Ye hills! 
I know there are no ills 
Where thy purest fountains 
Come from wildest mountains; 
Where thy glad rushing streams 
Carry most vivid dreams ; 
Where the deep-sounding caves 
Hide beside roaring waves; 

177 



Where the gentle dews of the morn 

Awake to sure toot of the horn ; 

Where rises in superb outUne, 

On the horizon's wavy line, 

The figure of lusty youth 

Who breathes in the very soul of truth. 



1-15-21 



A-DREAM AT THE PLOW 

A-dream at the plow . 

Yet we wonder how 

Ambition can surge at the heart of youth 

With so great an urge to know the truth 

That the universe of action swings into his ken, 

And this vision comes to him then : 

Of the hero carrying the flag thru the storm, 

Of the orator swaying the multitude for reform. 

Of the statesman standing at the helm of the nation, 

And of the lowly Savior pleading for all creation. 

He is hero, orator, statesman, Savior all in one, 

Advancing the cause of humanity till it is won. 

The plow jostles him, and he is called from his dream 

To what things are, and not what they seem. 

7-14-18 

178 



THE CALL OF THE WOODS 

I hear the call of the woods today. 

I must up and away 

While the urge is upon me. 

I go. I lean against the big oak tree 

And hear the whisper of the Dryad 

Who has revealed himself to myriad 

Songsters from Chaucer to Noe. 

"Hasten," said the Dryad, "for you must know 

The woods is alive with the spirit that quickens ; 

And where the broad forest thickens, 

Just beyond, there the Dryads dance 

To welcome thee, wishing only the chance 

To greet him who beauty see 

In leaf and flower and tree." 



6-15-18 



179 



THE OLD APPLE TREE 

Just beside the forest great, 

Close to a path traveled a generation ago, 

Stands the old apple tree to wait 

The final summons to go. 

Amid a new grown forest, with vines 

Entwined about his stooping form, 

He ever clings to life, but pines 

For the good old days that are gone. 

Like an old man who has spent 

His allotted time in service true. 

With the ranks of his generation rent 

By death, in a generation that is new, 

He holds to life that to him is dear 

And approaches the end without fear. 



6-14-18 



180 



THE SEVEN SISTERS 

Noble Sisters, art thou seven? 

Or hast one gone down to thy heaven 

To mingle with the dust of the ages 

As did the pyramids of the Nile — the sages 

Of Egyptian civilization erstwhile? 

Hast she gone to enrich thy Nile? 

Rearing thy rugged forms toward the sun, 

Like the famous Pillars of Hercules, one by one, 

Thou dost ever repose here, crowned 

With the gorgeous beauty of the hills, and renowned 

Alike for wealth of mineral and foliage meet. 

Clear waters of a mountain river bathe thy feet, 

Paralleled by a modern commercial highway, 

Built by our Highland Hercules in a day. 



181 



THE NARROWS 

The trembling earth, a rumbling noise, 
Rocks crashing from a precipitous height. 
And, enveloped in a cloud of smoke, 
A mountain appears across the path 
Nature has set for the course of things. 
A thousand streams rush against this wall, 
And rise higher, higher, and yet higher, 
Till an angry lake sweeps from its crest 
Far, far away among distant peaks. 
Then a mighty struggle for the pass 
Between mountain and stream begins ; 
But time allies itself with the stream — it wins. 
Now two mountain peaks look down, 
Thirteen hundred feet, on a peaceful river flowing be- 
tween. 

4-2-18 



182 



THE SCHOOL CHILD 

"The best is hardly good enough," 
Was said by our Kentucky sage ; 
"The best is hardly good enough," 
For the child of this or any age. 
The best schoolhouse money can buy, 
The best means of every kind ; 
And the best teacher you can try 
For the training of the child's mind. 
The best parents that can be found 
For noble youth of our fair land ; 
The best place that can them surround 
While they grow up under our hand. 
But, when all these are said and done, 
There is something yet due each one. 



I0ri3-i8 



183 



TO J. C. W. 

Hail to thee! Our northern singer! 

Thou who art the bringer 

Of myth, and story, and glad song 

From out the seclusion of time grown long. 

Thou art the spirit of that fairest clime 

Released from hill, lake, stream and pine, 

And now walk in thy fairer dreams 

Thru Elysian Fields by lovely streams. 

This is thy soul-enchanted land, 

Where the touch of thy surer hand 

Makes real the beliefs of a race 

Swept aside in the long, mad pace 

By the onward sweep of a New Freedom 

That forgot the Old in a New Cree'dom. 



9-20-20 



184 



A TRUE BROTHERHOOD 

Father and son at the hot noonday hour 
Step from the grasp of worldly power 
Down into the deep gorge by the stream, 
Beneath the dense rhododendron, to dream 
Away the tired feelings of the morning's hunt. 
They commune in a close companionship — a stunt 
That every father and son ought to perform — 
One that will bring about a mighty world reform. 
They toss aside their hats and fan the brow 
In a cooling breeze that seems to know how 
To lave the weary feelings of pilgrims here. 
They break the bread of life in a dear 
Brotherhood — one that summons to noblest good 
In a world of the fairest and best manhood. 

I-15-21 



185 



THE TOUCH OF GENTLE HANDS 

In a kind of dream it seem 

Fairies come gliding into my room, abeam 

With sunny rays of gladness — 

A sure cure for this dreamy sadness. 

Unannounced they come, 

Bringing in their chubby hands some 

Flowers, in wreath all aglow. 

Set among glistening sprays of pure snow. 

Did they come from goddess-hands pure? 

Of this I am quite sure. 

For gentle hands borne up by fairy wings — 

Gentleness that on]}^ mother-hand brings — 

Were seen to place them on the table there 

And disappear, leaving my sick-room so fair. 



1 



2-20-2I 



186 



THE FLOWERS 

The flowers ! The flowers ! 

How they while away the tedious hours ! 

Their sweet perfume drifts about the room ; 

Their blended colors are a visual boon. 

Tender hands have placed them there, 

Noble thoughts prompted the deed I'm aware, 

Pure hearts were back of it all, 

And friendships that come without call. 

You can never know the good you do — 

You who cheer the weary and the blue — 

For I have not the power to tell you 

How they touched and charmed me thru 

The severe trial of a year in a week 

And made my heart humble and meek. 



2-2 1-2 I 



187 



VIII. 

HUMOROUS POEM 



189 



THE LITTLE BROWN PILL 

Three boys, Joe, Tom and Bill, 
Of'n ranged from hill to hill, — 
Boys out for sport on leisure days, 
And found it in many comical ways. 

One day they lolled on the green, 
(Joe was out for some fun, I ween). 
Said he to Tom and Bill, 
"Let's try a Httle brown pill." 

*'You say you are at rest. 

Then I'll just put you to the test; 

My hat down on the spot, 

Now come on with yours on top." 

"Call it a dare if you say, — 
Anything to pass away the day. 
You don't hear, I believe, 
Then I'm ready to leave." 

"All right, we take the dare, 
Here goes to be fair, 
Our hats down we toss ; 
It will all be your loss." 



X91 



4-II-I5 



"Now, Bill, you first," says Joe. 
Then Tom bursts out, "I say so." 
"Very well, here goes," 
"Look out for your nose." 

"Ha! You go yours well . 
Wait, mine begins to swell." 
There, well, don't amble. 
Bill has his a-scramble. 

Bill Nye, Ward and Twain for fun. 
They are great as the stories run ; 
But you have missed your mark, 
For here laughs continued till dark. 



192 



IX. 
Poems of Ruth Maurine Fuson 



1«3 



STARS, PLAY WITH ME 

stars! Come down and play with me; 
I am as lonely as can be. 

You look so gay and bright up there 
In your great big world so fair. 

1 can't come all the way up to you, 

Up in your world so blue ; 
But you just drop down to me 
With all of your bright glee. 



WORK AND PLAY 



Now to work and soon to play, 
We shall be busy all the day. 
Merry and happy at play or work, 
Our duties we never, never shirk. 



195 



SPRING 

Spring has indeed come at last ; 
Winter has long ago passed. 
The birds are merry with song, 
Singing all the day long. 
The bright flowers bloom here and there, 
Sending their sweet perfume in the air. 
This good old world is very gay, 
Dressed in Spring's bright array. 
This is the glad wish we sing: 
"Long live our dear Queen Spring.'* 



196 



INDEX 



197 



INDEX TO TITLES 

Page 

Adown the Woodland Way 97 

A-dream at the Plow 178 

America 171 

Army on Parade, The 121 

Autumn 89 

Autumn Sun, The 91 

Avenue of Trees, An 130 

Bee, The 155 

Bookseller's Wares, The 158 

Burdened Soul, The 12 

Burnt Cabin, The 102 

Call of the Woods, The 179 

Clump of Cedars, The 115 

Contentment 152 

Cumberland Gap 74 

Dandelion, The 133 

Dandelion Again, The 106 

Dead Knight, The 21 

Death and Life 165 

Divine Urge, The 166 

Expectancy 165 

199 



Page 

Fishermen, The 86 

Flowers, The 187 

Garden, The 84 

Goal, The 131 

Halt! In Your Mad Rush for Wealth 156 

Hanging Rock, The 98 

Highlander to Highlander 169 

Hillock's Story, The 161 

Hunt in Florida, The 94 

Image, The 148 

Just Forty-Two 119 

Life 135 

Little Brown Pill, The 191 

Live While You Live 136 

Lone Pine, The 104 

Love 138 

Mammoth Cave 125 

Men 140 

Men and Hope 166 

Millpond, The 127 

Miracles 165 

Mirrored Is the World 166 

Misunderstood 142 



200 



Page 

Mountains, The, I, II, III, IV 175 

My Muse 146 

Narrows, The 182 

Narrows Again, The 80 

October Day, An 92 

Old Apple Tree, The 180 

O Soul Divine 11 

Out of the Dark Valley 29 

Panama Canal, The 82 

Peace, Sweet Peace 19 

Pine Tree, The 129 

Pineville 114 

Pinnacle, The 73 

Rhododendron 134 

Robin, The 160 

School Child, The 183 

Seeming Inequality of Things 157 

Seven Sisters, The 181 

Soul, The 173 

Spirit of the Mob, The 32 

Spirit or Man-God 23 

Spring 196 

Spring in the Mountains 1 12 

Stars, Play with Me 195 

Swift's Silver Mine 3 

201 



Page 

Teacher, The 170 

ToJ. C.W 184 

To R. C. H 174 

To Sue 28 

Touch of Gentle Hands, The 186 

Trailing Arbutus, The 100 

True Brotherhood, A 185 

Unconquerable Soul, The 17 

Union of Sympathy and Skill, The 144 

Universes 162 

Valley of the Brae, The 39 

Vision, The 172 

Whippoorwill, The no 

Why these Poems Preface 

Wonder and Beauty About Me 151 

Wonderful Tree, The 26 

Woodland, The 108 

Work and Play 195 



202 



